Grandmother

"Thank you for calling",
she told me - the woman
whose love (once removed)
is the raison I exist, thanked me for
pressing a button. Dotingly,
she spoke of dusty anecdotes;
self-medicating
antidotes to her asymptotic
days, as I accurately acquiesced
in well-worn pauses -
pauses that I knew
like the saltwater
grooves on her face (and 
am beginning to know
on mine).