Crawl

When my grandma crawled up the stairs
she explained it simply.
This bit’s tricky, she said,
I crawl up like a baby.

The words became wedged in my chest.
An uncomfortable lump
of christmas pudding and shortbread
tied in a tapestry
and sealed with a knitting needle
through my heart.

This bit’s tricky,
I crawl up like a baby.
Her words, unadorned and unburdened
were as gentle
as a defibrillator.

I won’t be here much longer.
Clear.