The Lost Keys

By Anna Banasiak

Grandma, is that you?
I heard your voice.
Why have you gone?

We’ll go to Saint Anthony
to find the keys and glasses
in the lost past.

I can’t sleep in an empty house.
It is so dark here.
Loneliness drowns out thoughts.
I’m afraid of the noise of silence.
Tara doesn’t want to go
squealing with grief.
I’ll take the grid,
make the tea,
find the keys
only come back.

Without you I’m lost
in the clutter of life.

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