It has been
eight years
Since my
grandmother breathed
Her last
breath
So much
changed that night
A person
became ash
A boy became
a man
And someone
we all loved
Ascended
Eight years
hence we
Have seen
two graduates
And one job
acquired
Yet still
her recipe books
Litter our
shelves
Filled with
magical combinations
Of spices
and utensils
Her memory
One which
will never fade
From my mind
As I cling
desperately to those memories
Wishing she
was here
Because I
need her
And that
will never change
The Bilge Master
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