Blonde hair and cookies



Blonde hair and cookies grandmother stories
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yuliares
yuliares Write the thing, panic later
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
A poem about grandmothers, memories, and losing them.

Blonde hair and cookies

My sister shares our mother's blonde hair

Pale like corn silk

In your sun-bleached hands

She cries when you call her by our mother's name

"She doesn't know me"

"She doesn't remember"

But that's not completely true, is it?

Her face still lights up

When we walk through the door

In her mind she's a young mother

She sees that we're family

Knows there is love

And slots us accordingly

Granddaughter becomes daughter.

Grandson becomes little brother.

She reminds me of the time we stole all the Christmas cookies, and I nod

Remembering that terrible crash

And my gingerbread uncle

Without a seatbelt

Forgetting is cruel, but so are memories

Why should our grandmother

Bear both burdens?

For as long as we can

Let us be her

Blonde hair

Blonde hair and cookies

Until it's our turn

Until it's our turn to forget.

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