Grandma cranks the tuna can with an old fashioned opener,
making sure not to get cut on the edges.
The tuna juice floats to the top
like algae from the sea.
She wonders what ocean the tuna came from.
She wonders who fished him out
as she chops the tuna like her mother taught her,
mixing hard boiled eggs and onions
and adding plenty of salad dressing
with her very bony fingers
and her henna red hair and bulging eyes.
She cries every time she peels the onion.
The nitroglycerin pill rests carefully beneath her tongue
as her heart beats in unsteady rhythms.
She smiles and laughs through the pain
as her cats rub against her and purr,
lining up to smell her fingers.
After which, they lick their lips
and look up at grandma when she talks,
breathing in her wonderful tuna breath.
More poems like this in my chapbook of poetry, Magical Yogis. Click the link to Magical Yogis at the top of my home page to make the purchase.