Ghost of my Grandma. 👵🏾

She stands in the garden, her dress torn by thorns,

the fabric catching the pale light of the moon.

I wonder, as I watch her,

does she know she is no longer alive?

Or am I the one lost,

wandering in a world I don’t belong to?

Yet her song pulls me in, as it always did,

and I follow, swift and unthinking.

______

Her hands graze the flowers,

but they crumble beneath her touch,

the scent of decay rising like a warning.

She turns, hollow eyes searching—

for something, for someone.

Perhaps she is searching for herself.

I want to ask her:

Is the afterlife gentle?

I want to ask:

Do you feel grace?

But the words lodge in my throat like stones,

and silence binds me.

______

Then she turns to me,

her gaze heavy as the night,

and whispers, Leave.

I wake, gasping,

realising it was all a dream.

______

Oh Nana,

I wish so badly you were still here with me.