Crushing Lavender

I haven't put my finger
In a light socket
since the first time
 it didn't work.

The way that I sometimes gravitate
to my grandmothers bed.
 Fall arms wide onto her bed-sheets
and prepare to miss her.

I can't be angry
at every lipstick stain
that floats my way.

Return to the earth,
 She always says.

There's a floral  box
under her dresser
Gathering the very best kind
of dust.

Does no  one else
carry confetti in their pockets
for special occasions?

Ridiculous isn't it?
All this waiting.

The night sky has become an arsenal
of glistening daggers.
Waiting to fall
as she rises.

All she ever asked
was that she be buried
in a field of lavender.