In the Midst of Her Cigarette Smoke

I’m in the midst of her cigarette smoke,

changing and growing old with her,

while laughing at a show together 

on the couch, and her off days were 

the highlights of my life. 

we’d walk for blocks in the city 

and her strength always kept 

me feeling safe, but I hoped

every-time we were alone that 

no one would sabotage 

what was left of us? 

she slept with a beaded rosary

on her ribs every night, 

I suppose to keep her feeling blessed,

and she‘s the biggest blessing 

to me. 

people describe her heart as stone, 

but how could they see that she’s 

the warmest kindest person 

underneath her cold exterior 

she developed over the years, 

fighting people who wanted to 

take an inch of her style. 

always in the midst of her cigarette smoke,

I would question my smell 

but watch her place her black liner 

only on the water lid, 

and her red, dark lipstick showed 

a glance at the sharpness 

that is her tongue. 

her first was covered in gold 

and if they connected to your jaw 

they would’ve touched your soul.

that’s the woman I know, 

and when she left somewhere inside

I figured I should let go. 

perhaps she’s upset, 

I chose to play dumb instead of 

being around more and 

taking care of the elder that 

once took care of me, 

but while she lived her bad habits

I inhabited them and I tried

to be the best granddaughter, 

that I could be. 

I know in her spirit she’ll 

always love me so I will

always love her, and I remember 

everything, small and big, 

through thick and thin, 

you’re forever engraved 

in my core.