they looked like rings to me

but she called them her knuckledusters

i didn’t understand what that meant

they wouldn’t clean a surface too well


when she sat next to me

i would stare at her hands

working out the jewels

the surrounding jagged edges

both wanting to know and not

how it would feel if she

dug them repeatedly into my arm or face


of course my nan would never do such a thing

a kinder soul you weren’t likely to meet

she’d make me cups of tea

put on a video for me

or if i was really good

a delicious fry up at midnight

i’ll never forget the face she pulled when

talking about mushrooms


i miss her, and johnny too

quite possibly the realest people ive ever met

and although i’m not sure about the afterlife

i can still feel their warmth

somehow, somewhere, sometimes

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