That week on the houseboat,
my Grandma’s last trip with us
before her neural connections
completely surrendered to Alzheimer’s.
We picked blackberries
from a flotilla of rafts,
strung together with ropes,
and Grandma baked a pie.
The consummate baker and cook,
I remember her embarrassed laugh
when we tasted it
and our mouths puckered up —
she’d forgotten the sugar.
Mom sprinkled sugar on top of our
oozing slices,
still steaming from the oven.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said.
But we knew it was.
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PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!
