Where Love Starts

Grandma gave me
a friendship all her own,
with her soft touch--
love as comfortable as an old shoe.
I slipped my hand into hers,
she was my lifeline:
held together with trust and faith.
Safe hands.

My heart like play dough
in her easy touch, molding me:
a perfect sculptor,
a beautiful painting,
a safe haven.

My life honored
when she glanced my way.
Eyes gleaming, love shining through.
“I’ve got a secret” she whispered
as she sat by my side;
red folding chairs and the
little wooden table- my size-
she sat with me, giggling at my jokes
and idle chatter; her quirky ‘one liners’
in perfect rhythm with my own.
“I love you” she’d tell me
between mouthfuls of
‘special grandma seasoned’
oyster crackers.

I never thought that those
three words could mean so much;
you never know what you hold
until it’s gone.

Although grandma may not be here
to hug me and kiss away the pain;
even to utter three syllables.
She is with me in my heart,
a pocket just for her;
because although she was my grandma,
she was my friend. And that buddy,
is where love starts.