Graceful

I look upon my broach
Millions of questions whirl through my mind
Although one question stays, unmovable
I whisper it into my butterflies wing, what was my grandma like?
As soon as the words had slid out of my mouth, I was transported into another world
The question still in the air, hanging, memories flash across the walls of white
Going past at the speed of light, memories of which I understand
Guns, bullets, bodies, blood
Cake, presents, laughter
I last saw my great grandmother old, withered and tired
Now I see her as a young careless girl
Something flashes across my vision, distracting me, I look up
What I see takes my breath away, my broach
Weightless, gliding, soaring through the sky
It's tiny silver body, spinning, weaving
It's delicate turquoise wings casting magnificent colours across the plain walls
Memories flash across the room, as delicate as tear drops
Slowly the world disappeared , I am standing in my room
Answers in one hand, my broach in the other
Graceful