Picture Frame

The battered frame lies lifeless on the ground.
It once held fond memories, I remember.
A voice as soft as silk, a tight grip to make me feel safe and warm.
Bedtime stories read to me and playing in the park.
Then never to come back.
I miss her, I miss her so much.
A small drop of water fell gently onto the photograph.
I put it close to my chest, and tenderly cradled it
As if a mother holding a newborn baby.
Images of Grandma came flooding back.