I can’t see beyond the flowers.
I was convinced
It would be easier than this;
But I can’t see much,
And there’s somebody who only knew you
For two years
To my twenty two
Talking about what a great woman you were.

I call bullshit.
She was better than your words.
She made me soup
And peeled me oranges
And always had ice cream in her freezer.

We waited for thirty minutes
Before they lowered you down.
I like to think
You’re probably already
Nitpicking about something that Grandpa did.

I’m not sure what to believe.
But I like to believe she’s with him.

 I washed my hair for you.
I could hear your voice
In my ears.
“You have such lovely curls.”
I found your old gold ring too –
Three circles connected by a simple
Golden band.
I wore it all day.

I remember thinking to myself
‘You look good for a mourner’
And hoping that she could see me and think
‘My, this one’s grown.’

 I’m not sure I can condense a life
Into a few simple words
I decided to type out
On the day we buried you.

I’ve never seen my brother sob,
Or heard my father cry.

I’m the youngest of the family,
The smallest of her grandchildren.
I didn’t know her much –
I didn’t know Nanna’s favourite kind of music,
Or how she met Nannu.

But Nanna liked to cook
And she always felt warm;
She liked to freeze bottles of water overnight
And always offered me something to drink.

She slipped me cash once a month
Because she thought I needed it
And worried about us every time
We got on a plane.

She was a simple woman,
Who loved my curls
And wanted what was best for us.

Somebody spoke your praises today;
Somebody who’d only known you
For two years
To my twenty-two.

I wish it had been anybody else.  

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