My name
Grandma says she knows my name (And my picture’s in her photo frame) Sometimes my name is just mislaid Like glasses, pens, or hearing aid.
Sometimes, she searches for a while, Touches my lips, traces my smile, Then tells a tale I’ve heard before About a party dress she wore.
Sometimes she thinks I’m someone else, Dad says, ‘Now, don’t upset yourself’, And in her eyes I see the spaces She tries to fill with familiar faces.
Her memories have gathered dust, She doesn’t quite know who to trust, Some days she stares, some days she cries, And when she does, I wipe her eyes.
Grandma says she knows my name, Just not at the moment when I came To see her, but she hasn’t lied, I know my name is locked inside.