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Grandmother hands.
Extra silky smooth,
Skin pliable, hanging loosely
Around blue veins.
Unparalleled at washing hair
In the sink.
Skillful at mending
Love worn bears
Or irradicating impossible stains.
Sensitive to the slightest fever
Rising to the brow.

Grandmother eyes.
Steel blue beauty,
Welcoming, laughing,
Even mischievous at times.
Weapons of sniper accuracy
Against the forces of
Grandchild tantrums.
Portals of entrance for
The scenes now recreated
In family lore.

Grandmother scent.
Chocolate-raspberry coffee,
Warming flake rolls,
Sloppy joe,
Cookies made in duet.
Potpourri, spicy lemon from
Those strange little waxy things
In the dish by the bathroom sink.
Laundry soap.
Mysteriously universal
Special "grandma" perfume,
That smells best
in a lingering farewell hug.

Grandmother love.
Evident in everything
From surprise cards
With checks tucked inside,
To freshly brewed iced tea.
As strong on Christmas morning
As it is in the darkest
Of family tragedy.
Simply perfect,
Elegantly complex,
And of the angels.

The marvel of grandmothers...