My gramma sings around the house
The songs of her youth.
She sits me down at the kitchen table,
The place where all chatter comes out.
We share a bowl of eggplant curry
My mother made the night before.
She says,"Y'know? I don't feel old, right?"
Tears well up in her purple-grey eyes.
"At your sister's graduation, they told me
To get into the picture."
It wasn't until she saw them developed
That she realized how old she was.
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