Thrive

I was eating with family

at an eccentric restaurant.

Twirling my pasta with a spoon because it makes me feel fancy.

And then a song comes on that reminds me of my poppi.

I stop eating because my gut reaction is

I’m not hungry because he is dead.

I start to play with my food

and no one has noticed that I am upset.

But then I think about how he would want me to be happy

and remember him as the poppi he was

I lost three grandparents in seven years,

and I know they would want me to thrive.

So I write this for them.

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