Climbing The Walls

My grandma climbed walls welted with thorns

Without seeing or reaching the ceiling

And fumbled her way up each sharp step

Into the darkness above.

She heard voices calling out her name

Through the tall planes of plaster and wood,

But when she opened her mouth to answer,

Thorns pricked her tongue and fog spilled out

That filled her lungs and clouded her ascent.

I watched her limp body slow with each pull,

Thorns plunged deeper into her slumping head,

And I prayed she would fall.