Babcia
  By Kateri Menominee

I bathe her back,
afraid to shatter her fragile body
She is a ceramic turtle
like the one I dropped on my big toe
when I was eight

I see labor embroidered
in her veins, inherited by
her mother

The air holds medicine,
roasting humidity, plastic
on her blossom couch, ruthless odor

of uncles cigarettes

loom towards the basement
where I’d play the organ
for her,

where I would wear
her wig, drenched in lice
pretending, like I always do

Pretending to be a princess
rescuing Grover from a blazing
castle, challenging him to

fly to me

I evoke memories from the
organ, blessed in dust
eight year old fingerprints
crafted on keys

They take me to a place where I needed to be