I never really knew
My grandma
In the ways that my cousin
Experienced,

Growing up next door
Where she waited
Each day for him
To come home from school –

Yet perhaps that’s why
There was tension
When she died last year
Without warning,

After living so long
Fighting sickness
And leaving her mark
Through such strength.

Those perceptions changed
Through persistence
Once hidden by lies
Behind reasons
Our elders believed
Hearing legends
Where perspective itself
Became lost –

Agreeing how vibrancy
Echoed
Like colors in time
Drawing pictures
Their existence shaped
Painting memories
Lacking shyness
While confidence shined.

Then a dream was shared
Between children
Who remembered days
Very different,

Being young men now
Trading answers
Over words which spoke
Beyond death.

He asked me
If these stories were true.

I replied, “All fables are fluid,
A relative scene based on wishes
Our love can destroy
Playing feelings
This discussion implies
Mean too much.”

Together,
We laughed despite tears.

Whoever seemed right
Didn’t matter.

Staying close
Is far more important.

Some questions
Still best remain myths.

• J. Pigno