Grandmother

Memories of us drift through me:
Kneading dough in the kitchen,
Surrounded by music and love,
Protecting me from a cruel world.
Toes wrapped in homemade socks,
We worked, exchanged old jokes,
Chattered about Wimbledon; but
Death slipped through our shield
And snatched you away from me.
Like threads in our special socks,
I unraveled, one string at a time
Until I picked up tangled threads
Of my life, turned on our old tunes,
And kept my ball of string close.