In Your Grasp

I gave my grandma a tiny hug. She was warm and scented. It was a Spring day, I recall. Just things are remembered right. Rain was gently misting there, outside a stained glass street. Cars on the highway journeying far, to places where there are no hugs. They have my sympathy. I sit in a grasp, a long embrace and remember times before. Decadence in her arms. My grandmothers charm is beckoning. Hard events are lost in traction. A boy I was, now but a man. Yet the hug I feel, cuddles me still. It gives my strength today.