Quilts & Knitting Needles

I cannot in my power capture or convey

Who she is, to me, in these strophes.

Merriam and Webster came up short,

I even looked to Dr. Seuss…

But to no avail of any sort

I can’t put the words into worthy groups.

How do I explain that she is a beautiful contradiction?

The spunk and the energy that flowed,

as she kick-lined with her grandchildren

on her 90th birthday, a few years ago.

That impressive lethargy, a sudden lassitude

that allows her to conk out the minute she’s seated,

head fallen back and sporadically snoring, no matter the previous mood.

I don’t do her justice

When I state that she’s clever—

She sticks bay leaves in her flour,

“to keep bugs out forever”.

You’ll find cloves in her sweaters,

“too discourage the moths”;

Baking soda in the microwave “removes any smells”,

she unmistakably scoffs.

Vinegar-rinsed sponges,

“safe from that awful smell of mold”;

Plastic wrap in the freezer because, of course,

“it doesn’t stick together when it’s cold”.

No grandmotherly stereotype is filled by her tiny frame

Except maybe those chocolate chip cookies

That for at least 19 years have tasted the same.

And I swear her brownies are made with some magic—

I’ve never seen their blue tin empty,

In fact the thought is quite tragic.

Most people swear by An Apple A Day,

But her theory is gin-soaked raisins--

nine every day keeps the arthritis away?

And who has time to knit? Or quilt? Not her,

For her tricycle begs for a ride…

The day Doc said no more two-wheelers

Was the day I thought I’d first see my grandmother cry.

But the best part about this idol of mine

(I will try very hard to articulate this)--

Is her sarcasm and eye-rolling, on point every time.

And the key to Maloney greatness.