Sonnet for My Grandmother

You always joked of putting bricks on my head 

to stop me from growing, four, five feet tall.

It was an expression I detested, and had

no power over me for I soon surpassed 

you in height, but not in wisdom. I did not, 

could not know what you carried: two daughters in your 

two arms—you only blinked and your children were grown.

Now, I too wish for bricks, as you hug me goodbye 

at the airport. I dream of the days when 

we’d buckle into your Kia and get 

Dairy Queen with the windows down. I’d go 

down the slide at Alligator park and 

you’d push me on the swing. Wind in my hair, 

time suspended, it felt like we would never die.