she methodically scours sticky plates
relics of a hardy meal on meager pension
my tulip Easter dress designed
without a Butterick pattern lays over low stool
Gram lives in two worlds
A majesty of stars glints over the Rockies
a night sky made for memorizing
her fingers awaken, begin to trace
these glittering faces
wrists whirl like an exotic dancer
she smiles at heavenly neighborhoods
wonders what it would be like
to live full-time in lightness?
Her eyes never leave the sky but
from the back window of herself
she shares with me friendly gossip
from P. J.’s market
mimics afternoon Owl Bar hoots
whispers of her St. Peters’ stop
to light a candle for
Uncle Rudy a prisoner of war
“never was right when he came home”
To live up there
see the 3 room house below
snug among other 3 room houses
honey glow from front rooms melt
through shadeless windows
She wishes she could touch
the distant skin of full moon but
with last glass dried, last fork put away
she makes her way to stuffed chair
switches on lone light
lifts a ball of golden thread
caresses crochet hook,
for an enormous moment slowly closes eyes
wonders around in her own night sky then
begins to whirl chains that
connect, encircle, explode into
a constellation doily
thread-made memories of her other life.
