Is it unhealthy
that I want you
to keep my
Grandma's set of FiestaWare?

Bold, vivacious,
the colors of forgotten
California—
Beautiful anachronism.

I shouldn’t—
but I do.

I still think about us.

How when my Grandma
was dying,
you came with me
to the house I
was a boy in.

You & I stood
next to her,
so sick—
barely discerning
my memories
of her
from the bed
& the body.

The woman who raised me.

I whispered in her ear,
“You don’t have to
worry about me anymore Grandma.
This is the girl
I’m going to marry.”

That was the last time I saw her.

Those words now glazed in antiquity,
through heat and pressure.

Please keep that kitschy
set of bowls & plates.

Inside your cupboard
or on a new dinner table—
Let them sit, transfixed—
a survivor of
broken moments.

Let them remind the food
you eat now
to be
healthy & healed.
everlasting.

On a shelf, where they wait
when you want
to remember.