In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t stop writing about my grandmother. But there’s a good reason for this— it’s because I can’t stop thinking about my grandmother. She passed away a few years ago, and though I’m not trying to write an entire book about her (but tbh I could, and might), she just keeps showing up—quietly, insistently—in the ordinary yet profound way loved ones tend to do. And because she’s gone, those moments now arrive (and are amplified) with a pang of loss, memory, longing.

Not long after she passed, I found myself swirling the phrase might should through my skull, like I was nosing a glass of wine, inspecting the color and clarity of it. It held no real significance to me other than just something my grandmother said, and it wasn’t something I ever pointed out or asked her about. But these are the words that came to me when she died.

But the longer they sloshed, the more I began to understand. What once sounded like a grammatical hiccup now feels to me like something closer to prayer— a phrase that makes room for hesitation, for softness, for the sacred middle ground between knowing and not knowing.

I don’t know why that’s the phrase she left me with, but I think I might should hold onto it.

This poem was originally published in my favorite lit mag ONLY POEMS DAILY, which, if you haven’t subscribed/followed/stalked them yet, definitely do. If you like my stuff, you’ll like their stuff even better.

Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read this poem. If you enjoyed it, let me know by dropping a comment or sharing it. Your support means the absolute world to me. :)

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