I was always very particular 

About my shades of purple.

The perfect one was not too pink,

And not too blue,

Not to dark but not too light,

Just right, sat just in the middle, my favorite,

That perfectly purple hue.

So it took me by surprise

When I walked into the dining room to see

My late grandmother 

Sitting at the kitchen island,

Eating breakfast with the family,

wearing That Perfect Purple.

Of course, I couldn’t help but wonder,

How was she here?

Why aren’t we freaking out that

A lady we just buried a few weeks ago 

Was sitting in our house eating breakfast with the family?

But it seems normal. 

My father was standing at the stove, 

scrambling eggs,

My brother sat at the table, awaiting a plate.

Everyone is acting normal,

almost as if she belongs here.

I don’t remember the last time my grandmother sat to have breakfast with us.

She stopped being able to walk up the steps 

From her bedroom to our kitchen 

A year or so ago.

But she was here.

& she was smiling,

& she was wearing that Perfect Purple shirt.

for once she looked healthy.

the ends of my lips curled up

At the sight of her healthy.

I grabbed a plate of that 

nostalgic childhood breakfast 

With the apple slices on the side-

It tasted like home. 

It tasted like She was home.

I awoke from that dream to find

The memory fast fading from my mind.

But I did remember that purple.

Perfectly Purple.

Perfectly healthy.

As I idealized her to be.

I like to think she was checking in—

& watching over me.