Grandma sits in the old chair in the living room,
a skeleton draped in worn curtains of flesh.
She has her eyes closed and her head tilted back
with her mouth wide open as if it were screaming
to heaven to let her die.
Every morning she sleeps like this and also
in the afternoon and every night, but this
morning I don’t wake from the loud snores
screaming their way upstairs to my bedroom
right above the old chair.
I wake up at eleven instead of eight and I wonder
if I’ll finally be able to wake up with less worries
now that heaven’s finally heard her snoring
screams drilling their way through this floor into
my bedroom and out of the ceiling.
I touch each step downstairs with both my feet to
buy time for the inevitable sadness that’s going
to drill into my chest and remember to cry when
I dial the ambulance and tell mom grandma’s dead.
“She died during her sleep,” I’ll say.
I stand before her now and she’s just like I imagined,
her eyes closed and her head tilted back and her mouth
open with no prayers for god to hear this time. I flip the
cell phone open and brace my tears to dial the emergencies
but I should make sure first.
I inch so close to her with my nose a hair’s way from
brushing hers and listen for any breaths left praying to die.
Her mouth’s so wide open and I never knew she had a
gold tooth and I wonder how she got it and really wish she
would have told me her adventures.
But it’s too late.
I dial the 9, the 1, I brush the
last 1 and I almost press it but I
have to be sure so I do the last
thing I can which is to
Her eyes light up like a dog who smells food
and I think I’ve had a heart attack.
“What happened to ER?” she asks
as I wisk the T.V. Remote into her cold hand
and drill myself back up the stairs to my room.