We shared a grandmother
when the earth was not new, like us,
but middling, like her,
And we were footnotes
in an attic of memories,
As time spun us all.
Beneath the glass, age advanced
to shadow it, the light no longer emanating within her.
Crepe fingers gathered black cobwebs
and they said something that was
Not a simple few contractions:
"Grandmother has withdrawn from London permanently,"
and so did my heart;
but I could not pin back my hunger for her.
We have lost an age, which was never ours,
a cocktail of nostalgia and bitters,
and the one we have, we cannot contain,
the future lapping ever at the brim.