A LETTER TO MY GRANDMA’S HOUSE

By Ella Aspinall

Dear the apartment in the air-conditioned building,

I remember walking up your sandstone steps. The ones with beams that would creak below And the ancient elevator that would take too long The humidity, thick in the air.

I raced up those steps countless times. Each one leading to your third floor Anticipating my grandparents with open arms.

You smelled like Earl Grey and rain. You smelled of comfort and tranquility. And I loved you.

How I loved those starched cotton sheets. Those mornings with cereal and hot chocolate. My younger brother staring at the TV with only three channels. Its static pulsing through the air as he tried to change them.

You held my grandfather and grandmother safely. Giving them a home for their grandchildren to visit. For them to fall in love with you.

Slowly, A space became empty You saw him leave a gaping hole

And yet you watched Silently.

You watched her lead the ants with sugar cubes

Because she believed it was good luck

And you watched him fall

Because it was his time to go

You felt too wide.

And I understood when I came back that summer. To see a space

Left on my Grandma Lovebug’s bed

I clutched the sheets

And wondered where he went.

Years pass,

And I am still in love with those cereal and hot chocolate mornings. I am still in love with the stash of polvorón in the kitchen cupboards. And I am still in love

With the memories you gave me

In that apartment

On the third floor

Up the sandstone steps with the creaking metal beams

And the ancient elevator that took too long.

Sincerely,

Ella