Talking to My Grandmother Who Used to Love me
I stopped wishing to die, just so you wouldn’t see me grow up
You taught me how to read the forest. You showed me how to pick the right flowers for a juice. You taught me to spot frog eggs. And to stand still and watch deer in the meadow after the summer rain. You taught me how to handle horses. You taught me how to listen to them and how to talk with them. You taught me how to stand up and not be angry with them even after the worst fall.
You taught me about a garden vole and how I can’t resent a cat for hunting it. You showed me when to pick blueberries so they’re sweet but still a bit sour. I ate carrots directly from the garden. I slept in your arms even when I was too grown up. I shared all my secrets with you and called you for the tiniest stuff. For years I used to listen to you breathing at night just to make sure that you were still alive. I rode horses in fear after the accident, just to make you happy.
But then I grew up. And I am sorry for that.
I’m sorry I started creating my own life. I’m sorry I started getting excited about my own adventures. I was excited about forests and woods around the world, my own garden, and horses that weren’t yours. I’m sorry I traveled for so long. I’m sorry you can’t understand that I love my partner. I’m…
