poem: 6/28/2020

i remember my grandma driving me around waipahu
on her errands.
long afternoons in the leeward sun
sometimes staring at the patterns
in my green hand me down pants
and sometimes looking out
at the drifting landscape outside.

everything seemed washed out and blue,
like a photograph left too long in the sun.
or like a picture book from the 50's.
the people were like gilligan's island,
all white and smiling.
a church accepting donations,
with an open green field,
and glass louvers before an empty
tiled room of worship.
looking at the broken and forgotten toys
no one wanted.

in the car, to keep herself from
falling asleep at the wheel
grandma would reach for the
white tofu container
sometimes for ice, half melted,
and sometimes for sugared lemon drops.
she would glance at me
this small and quiet thing
in the rear view mirror
her eyes would smile,
and she would sing that one and
only song:

"baa-baa black sheep
have you any wool?
yes sir, yes sir,
three bags full."

we were running the errands,
making deliveries.
but her glittering eyes told me,
she never forgot
the little boy who lived down the lane.