Aged

I can hear your smile folded between two panting steps you rave about gorging your Google Health rings with color, life I am rooting for your medal shielding the eyes of the belly of time so she never finds your favorite trail

My grandmother kept her teeth in a jar by the bed and her husband in a song she hummed wrong on purpose. Aged, she said, is what milk does, what wood does, what a girl does when she stops apologizing for the weather. She showed me her hands, two maps of where the river used to be, and said, here, here is where I crossed.