My grandmother

My grandmother is like fire.
The same shade she used to dye her hair—a blazing, vibrant red
The red that gathers friends and family for campfires
Laughing and smiling, sharing stories.
Warm, inviting, Home.
Life

My grandmother is like fire.
Only now, the fire in her hair is in her mind, too.
Tinting her vision red
Fueling her mouth like a dragon's breath
Still blazing and strong
But now scorching

Friends and family no longer gather too scared of being burned again
Trying to protect themselves from more scars.
I can see she's burning right in the flames' center.
So, I'll hold on and let my first degrees turn into seconds and thirds.
I'll get skin grafts if that's what it takes to hold on so she's not alone in this blaze.

My grandmother is like fire.
Still home, but now it's burning.
Her fire is dying out, and her hair is like ash.
And we will be left with memories of warm campfires and burning scars of remembrance.