Another 3am Call
Every night, my grandmother
rehearses her journey
into the otherworld
as her womenfolk stand by,
rooted to this world by strong cups of tea.
The air is electricity
and it¹s easy to imagine
my grandmother¹s travels
and how superfluous
slippers might be.
We dress her in her wedding gown,
her auburn hair with violets.
On the walk home
night fits around us
like a freshly torn coat.
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