Sometimes I would go out to my grandma's
and bring her lunch.
She didn't like cooking for just one.
We'd eat hoagies from Vito's market,
bag of Lay's chips between the two of us,
and sweet tea she had in her fridge
using only the plastic cups
because we couldn't have glass around the pool.

She'd point to necklaces and cashmere sweaters
from the new JCrew catalog,
dog earring all the pages she loved
her tan hands steady on the corners
with several silver rings on her fingers,
big diamond on the left one.

I hated to leave her with only the sound
of the Pennsylvania state flag flapping
against the pole,
or her neighbor's lawn being mowed.
But she smiled something huge when I waved goodbye
from the sidewalk
slowly closing the catalog,
a sympathy wind chime scoring her steps,
walking back inside
to no one sitting in the arm chair
and the TV on mute.