Eighty-Eight Old Friends

For Grandma Ellie

They rolled you there.
     Your chair, not a bench.
Your chair that rolls. Not a bench. They roll you there.

You see their faces.
     Eighty-eight faces.
Black and white. Your friends faces. Black and white faces.

Your hands stretch out, grasping.
     Fingers remember, don’t remember, tasking.
Once remembered. These fingers once grasping. Tasking, grasping.

Friends stare up at you.
     Sing with us! They want you to.
Eighty-eight friends and you. Whats the song? You want it too.

But it not sad. The memory.
     In your memory you sing, a reverie.
Fleeting. Always fleeting. Such a thing, memory.

They roll you away.
     You chair, not a bench, not today.
From your friends. Eighty-eight friends. You roll away.

Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps you’ll sing?
     Maybe not here, but you’ll do the thing.
Eighty-eight friends and you, and you and they, and you will sing.

But not today.