As I roll down the street alone,
My spine stiffens;
As a presence enters my consciousness.
The scrapbook of my memory flips to a page in real time;
Back before my innocence was slowly erased, without contemplation or rhyme.
My Grandma C. is speaking,
Her wizened hands rest gently on top of mine.
The chasm between generations shows no sign.
I promise her that I will keep her flame of legacy alight.
No matter what the circumstance,
Because my heart says that this action is not only noble but right.
My Grandma C. may have exited the earthy realm with only a simper,
But she is thriving with each breath that leaves my lips,
I exhale, a living document rooted by my grandmother's soft but iron whisper.
© Copyright 2016 Wheels Warrior. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Literary Fiction
Poem / Non-Fiction
Short Story / Historical Fiction
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