Funeral

For three long weeks

my grandmother’s mother screamed

at night because she thought she was swallowing

her teeth and because she believed

in hell.

I do not remember her

eyes open, but I remember the

way the cool white skin of her arm

felt on my clammy fingers as I knelt

next to her, trying to look sad

(not scared)

right before the older

cousins took me upstairs and taught

me how to play hold ‘em.

I first knew I would die

three hours later

in an On-Tap in Medina

watching popcorn fall out

of my uncles hand and onto

the floor like a rose

into a hole. Not sure

if the tears

in my eyes were

for her, or

for me.