She always knew
like magic
when we arrived.
Flinging open her door
and arms in welcome
with kisses sweet as gingerbread.
It was always a treat when
to Grandmother’s house
we went.
Her kitchen warmed
by sun
by stove
by love
was always ready
to feed the body and soul.
Her arms
soft yet strong
could soothe any hurt,
support any weariness.
There was always a place
for any who might come
family
friend
visitor:
There were no strangers
at her table.
The hearth has gone cold now,
though her legacy remains
fierce love,
quiet strength,
deep devotion.
The lessons I learned
going to Grandmother’s house.
In loving memory of Grandma S.
