Twenty years later, you return
Along that path in the woods
To my grandmother's house,
Planning to try us again, and
Knowing the woodcutter is
Gone because the trees are gone.
But we have seen worse wolves
At the door since your time:
Impending foreclosure, bad mortgage,
Angina, chronic back pain, rotten molars,
My son caught with a hirsute hand in the till.
Your gray look is familiar to me.
Calling to Grams in the kitchen,
I guffaw in your face. You just
Stand there, not knowing whether to smile
Or what to say. But yes, old friend:
I always knew who it was in that dress.
Come on in and have a drink.