Wailing and screaming to stay within the warmth of my grandparents’ arms.
As the clock ticks I reminisce all the moments we had
Warm rags that would wipe on my face in the early morning,
Fingers that would comb through my hair, making braids or ponytails
Their large hands that held my tiny fingers as we crossed the street.
As the clock ticks, I miss the warm rags that dampened my face,
I regret when I remember not wanting my hair up anymore,
I miss the arms that held me close.
As the clock ticks, hospital visits have become more persistent
More than ever were events planned for people to visit
Tears were shed, laughter was shared, knowing their end is near
As the clock ticks, I hope for more time, more memories
I try my best to find a way to hear their laughter and see their smiles.
As the clock ticks, I watch as they get older and grayer, weaker and slower,
But in my heart they’ll stay, never to fade away.
-- Malaya C., 9th-12th Grade