We sat in a park once and talked about bees.
Silly talk. You
snorted with laughter.
Rewarded my absurdity
with helpless tears.
We went on like that for a good half hour.
And I like to think I could do it again,
given the chance.
I am the same grandmother.
A little older, yes. but so are you–
perhaps too old for indulging
in the ridiculous.
Or maybe the old honey between us
has hardened now,
with one so eager for the future,
one always looking back.
Women Writers, June 2009