My earliest memories are of my Grandma’s kitchen.
She would make me a concoction of poached eggs, saltine crackers, and butter for breakfast.
I loved every bite of it.
Each holiday, she would set up a festive display on top of an old stereo that doubled as a buffet.
There was never a speck of dust. Anywhere.
I played in her make up.
I could fall asleep anywhere.
I have a hard time remembering her voice.
But I can still hear her call my name.
Sometimes, I smell her perfume.
If I think about her too long…I still cry.