Creamed Spinach

The kitchen smelled of simmering cauliflower

 and soap suds.

As you hovered over the steaming pan,

I was elbow deep in citrus bubbles.

You pulled a blue ceramic bowl from the microwave

filled with steaming green goop.

My nose wrinkled

at its seaweedy strangeness.

I sloshed the sludge around with my spoon.

“Grandma, we really eat this stuff?”

You just stirred the cauliflower,

powdered blue t-shirt shaking with your shoulders.

“People find strength in the strangest things.”

I dipped my finger into the buttery slime,

pressed it to my tongue, and swallowed.

I smiled up at you with green leaflets,

When the cancer caught hold of your lungs,

that ceramic bowl sat steaming on the dinner table.

You were still Grandma,

and I was a green giant.

When its tendrils twined their way into your brain,

I saw the filmy soap suds in your clouded vision.

The ceramic bowl lay empty in the cupboard

gathering dust.