Gramma, Grandpa

Dear Gramma Carolyn,
I remember your hair, curly like spaghetti
strings. Your hair wanting to be as blond
as Marilyn Monroe but it has specks
of grey, like a pigeon sitting
on the roof of an old cottage.
I remember hearing the sports TV
as loud as can be because
Grandpa can’t hear well.
I remember us in the plane
going to Utah, and me falling asleep
with my head on your lap.
Even though I snored like a pig
and tossed and turned, you didn’t mind
because you loved me.

Dear Gramps,
I remember the bullet hole in your arm
from World War II.

I remember you dancing and singing
around the kitchen table. Even though
you are 90 nothing stops you
from getting a little hop in your step.

I remember your hair as white
as clouds on a summer day.

I remember me talking as loud
as a bird chirping to get your
attention.