Yaya is what we called
our grandmothers.
Mine.
My daughter’s.
Oh, how Yaya doted
on my girl.
How she loved
her granddaughter,
and later her son-in-law
because he was a part of her.
With her heavy accent,
she’d say,
“Mine son-in-lof”
and Shane
was always
Shine.
She couldn’t make
her tongue
do what it wouldn’t do.
Dara created a list
of Yaya words and spellings
that had us giggling,
set her up
with Internet and a laptop
so they could message
between Montreal
and Vancouver
in real time,
and so Yaya
could play solitaire
in her eighties.
Innumerable ways
she had
of loving Yaya.
Even now.
Yaya’s granddaughter
is love
in action.
(Post-burial July 16, 2018)