How to Show Love


Nan was summertime.
Nan was memories.
Memories of warm black tea in the morning and soft chairs beneath
us.
The soft rug between my feet and the hum of the TV on.
Nan was walks around the neighborhood with no shoes on.
Nan was the smell of salads and grilled chicken on Saturday
afternoons.
Nan was big yards and even bigger gardens.
Nan was the crickets in the night
Nan was my hope. During these short years with Nan she taught me,

how to show love.

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