And then you’d sing

For grandmama

I heard your voice today.

I went looking for more space and

found the voicemail you left by accident 

A butt dial from March 29, 2020.

You sang. And you whistled

the whistle of a woman who believes

no one else can hear her.

My baby can’t whistle. 

She told me on a car ride

I tried again to help

but you know me.

Remember “teaching” me to knit – 

I couldn’t be bothered to sit! 

Mentally, I placed not knowing how 

how to teach her to list I’ve unofficially

compiled for 15 years – the swings

I took that ended in a miss. The

times I just stood still.

If she’d seen you more

maybe you’d have done for her

what you did for me, showing her

how easy it is to make music 

by simply pursing your lips. 

I hope she can’t see through me

as I add up all my wrongs.

You would take one look at

my face and you’d say 

What are we gonna do with you, little bit?

Then you’d pull me into your arms

so my tears can make your shoulder wet. 

And when I’d lift my head to check my work

darkening your purple sleeve, 

you’d deepen your voice and you’d say

We’ll just love you a little bit more.