An Unusual Time

 By George Brown

In Memory of Jill Brown 

Grandma tells me it's an unusual time. 

She is bruises and bone, upper lip 

catching on her teeth. 

She tells me much has become clear: 

She is grateful. The Lord doesn’t decide 

when the spirit must leave, 

He can only mourn, 

surrounded by his children. 

She still laughs like a penny, 

still remembers driving Mom 

barely nine months pregnant 

with a Goldfish on her lap 

to the new house, me 

in a car seat. She tells mom: 

you taught me how to be a woman 

and her voice does not break: 

she is still Jill. I remember 

when we would weed 

the empty lot at the end 

of the street, getting tired 

pulling out unlucky Dandelions. 

She would say: Good job. 

But the bruises and bone, 

the bruises and bone.