Gorgeous

Let's get one thing straight-
when I saw you on Tuesday
the first word
that came to my mind was
Gorgeous.
Not tired, or weaker
or bald or different,
though you were all of those things-
but first and most brilliantly,
Gorgeous.

In your life of lunches
and visits and car rides
it couldn't have been easy-
but there you were,
tying a scarf around your head
as if placing a sunhat
over the delicately arranged
grandma hair that
defined you for the years I've know you.
You gave me your jacket
for the still crisp Alexandria morning,
and we were on our way.

When we brought you
to the hospital
you pointed out the free coffee
(for patients and families of patients),
introduced us to your new friend
whose name I couldn't pronounce
and country I did not recognize.
You left us with the free coffee
and quietly disappeared into another room.

When you came back,
all pastels and smiles,
you told us how treatment
makes you feel like a pretzel,
and suggested a sandwich place
we could stop in on the way home.

And when we refused to take
the 20 dollar bill you waved
around the window into the place
you gave me this ridiculous,
eyebrowed look-
the silliest look I'd seen in a long time,
and one I would never, ever
expect from my grandma.
And even then you were
Gorgeous,
Striking beyond measure.