Summer Visit

I can close my eyes, and see Her gentle, weathered face, Hair pulled back into a wispy bun Grey around the temples, crinkles around the eyes A bibbed apron, fastened with two safety pins To the top of her dress That apron, which throughout the day Served as a place to dry her hands To hold a hot pan of oatmeal cookies straight out of the oven A hammock to carry tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden A cloth to wipe my tears after I had skinned my knees For Grandma, dressing up meant taking off the apron Putting a black felt hat on the top of her head And wearing her worn grey tweed coat Yes then...she would be ready for church, Knowing the lyrics to all the hymns Without cracking open the hymnal Poking me gently with her elbow If I failed to bow my head in reverence While the preacher said the prayer Sometimes, even today,.... I still feel a gentle twinge between my ribs Or the soft worn cloth of her apron wipe away my tears