Grandma's Cookies

Every year at Chanukah, Like from divine command, My grandma made the cookies All her grandkids would demand. These humble sugar dainties, Cut in shapes and rolled out thin, Served as harbinger that Chanukah Could finally begin. But each one, crisp and delicate, Came with the possibility That part of it would snap away, Because of its fragility. So lions rarely kept their tails And candles lost their flames. The sturdy dreidels, still intact, Were prized for lack of maims. A colored sugar dusting Coated each and every shape. From sugar sparkles on your clothes You never could escape. My grandma passed her cutters down To me, and so I strive, With floured hands, to help to keep Her recipe alive. Today I gamely baked a batch; My kids made the request. I picture grandma’s smiling face And think she’d be impressed.