The last time I saw my grandmother by Marie-Louise Eyres

A large tree in the middle of green woodland. Large white text reads: The Last Time I Saw My Grandmother. Smaller text reads: Discussing disabled characters in fairy tales and folklore.

She was in a hospital bed calm and still,
propped up, thin bones against fat pillows
hair brushed sleek, like Lauren Bacall.
One eye, the right one, clamped shut.
 
I was thirteen. I kissed her goodbye 
those versions of us, finished.
And now, some thirty-odd years later my eye,
my right eye, by rights,
 
is clamping itself the same way,
firmly shut, as if to say           Business hours strictly over.
And I can tell you now, that shut
is a lot better than skewed, prism, doubled
 
or idly wandering
(my only other options).
Sometimes you glimpse your worst possibility,
then it simply tiptoes along
 
like a restless child in the night, 
climbing into your bed to sleep on your back,
and when it does, you’re calm, because
what else can you do?

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About the author:
Marie-Louise received her MFA from MMU in 2020 after a brain tumour diagnosis in 2018. She was a winner in the Poetry News' "Lesser Loss" competition and her poems can be found in Stand, Agenda, Acumen, Portland Review, Poetry Magazine and the competition anthologies for the Bridport, Bedford, Live Canon and Ginkgo