Grandma likes to re-purpose.
She once gave me a calendar from 1987,
Featuring photos of tractors,
In case it would come in handy.
It did not.
She has several mismatched teapots,
Yet she only likes coffee
And her garage is full of half-upholstered chairs.
Plump money plants and bright orchids,
Lining her windowsills,
Jostle with dusty cacti which make me sneeze,
So we must sit outside together , escaping the clutter,
Waiting for spring to arrive.
Rain drips from her gutters and the garden ferns
As she presses a rusty tin into my hands that once held fudge,
Because I’ll never know when I might need it.
I keep it as a reminder of these damp days.