My great-grandmother moved in across the street
Her house was like an art gallery,
it was spotless with all white walls and nothing out of place.
I would walk over and spend the night curled up in her bed,
staring at the large painting above her bed.
Hung on the wall in her living room,
was one of two Joan Miro prints in her home.
I always admired it, how something so abstract could look so complete.
I would try and find images in it like a submarine or a smiley face,
and she would try to explain that there were no separate images just one large piece.
Now she's gone, and hidden downstairs is her Joan Miro print.