Down to Grams

Poem about my grandmother

Down to Gram’s

Down to Gram’s,
Comfort wrapped around me
Like a warm quilt in winter.
Hers was a tranquil island
Amidst the thundering river of time,
Where a boy could go to learn
Of the past, and be special for a little while.

The aroma of fresh baked cookies
Guided me to my chair
As strong black tea sat quietly steeping,
Awaiting its duet with sweet golden honey.

Down to Grams,
Her stories breathed life
Back into our dead town,
With tales of iron oxen puffing ebony smoke
And snorting snow white steam,
While workers swarmed about moving goods.

Ghosts of old friends and family,
Seated in the carriage of her memory,
Came to visit and speak of days gone by.
About tools forged by skilled tradesmen
And fine paper crafted for the world.

Down to Gram’s,
The cool cellar fended off summer heat
As sticky sweet root beer was captured and capped
In bottles older than I, while she cursed a Red Sox gaffe
Or told stories of a grandfather I never knew.

We sat, we shared,
We said nothing at times.
Just enjoyed each others company
And the times she made me feel special.