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.