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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
