My grandfather’s voice reminds me of jelly donuts
Powered ones that come in a white box tied with red and white string
He always had them for me when I visited
It reminds me of how his voice echoed a bit
In that old kitchen in that old yellow house
The brown linoleum floor
My grandmother’s walker rolling over soft carpet, then tile
His soft cashmere sweaters against my face when I hugged him
He’d kiss my cheek too wet, with crumbs on his lips
I should write him a letter
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Joy’s note: wonderful nostalgia
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