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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