my bad gramma.

I saw my bad gramma today...
for what will most likely be the last time I'll ever see her.
...it's somehow worse
that for a change she didn't have anything sour to report
or cruel to say.
In fact, she didn't say anything at all.
She uttered a few gutteral moans, her mouth gapping,
her skin tight over bones frail.
Her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
She responded
to just about everything in the room
except me and my father.
To us she gave as her final gift:
a flinch, a slow blink, and silence.