When grandma passed away,

I wrote her a poem because it’s the only way I could communicate with her. 

It was a silly childish poem, but I remember thanking her because up until her death I was afraid of it. 

She used to ask me to come into her room and would show me a box she wanted me to take out from her closet when she died. 

That was 25 years before she actually passed. 

So I wrote to her because I didn’t know where to find the box anymore. 

I always wondered what was in that box. 

I went to the beach to burn the poem so I could send it up to her, but it was so windy I couldn’t  get the paper to ignite. 

Three guys were sitting around their own blazing bonfire and I asked them if I could burn a poem I wrote for grandma who had just passed. 

They asked me to read it to them. 

That must have been the most intimate moment I’ve ever had with three men at one time. 

I lit a cigarette and walked away alone to have a beer by myself. 

That was a night of many firsts. 

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