The quilt in Nana’s house had blue flowers
on a white background, smelled of soap
and fresh air, straight from the clothesline

Nana could never sit straight, Parkinson’s
robbed her of posture and speech, shaking
hands in the lap of her blue flowered dress

Hollyhocks grew by my grandparent’s house,
blue flowers on tall vines tied to a trellis
to keep them from bending over like Nana

I knew Nana was dead, listened
to relatives’ low whispers, while I
curled up under her blue flowered quilt

I was led by an aunt to the open casket,
my hand trapped in hers like a cotton claw;
Nana was wearing a dress with blue flowers

Image Credit:Markus Spiske

Julie A. Dickson is a poet and writer of YA fiction, based on personal experiences of bullying, mixed with fantasy and magic. Her poetry appears in over 50 journals, including Misfit, Sledgehammer, Open Door, etc. She is a push cart nominee, past poetry board member, advocate for captive elephants and companion of two rescued feral cats. Writers write.