When our grand-daughter visits,
she likes to go through
my drawers of sparkly jewelry,
piling on layers of necklaces,
searching out the clip-on earrings,
loading her wrists with bracelets,
coveting.
“Grammy, I really, really
love this,” she says as she
stands on a stool, admiring
herself and some gaudy
bauble of mine she’s
modeling in the mirror.
So prodigious is this girl’s charm,
she strikes a near perfect balance
between complimenting my gems
and pure finagling: Grammy-please-
let-me-have-this-now-now-now.
“Remember?” I say. “I told you
I’m going to give you all of
my sparkly jewelry when I die.”
A pause, and then she replies,
“But Grammy, I don’t want
you to die.”
“Oh, my girl, don’t worry.
I won’t die for a long, long time,
not until I’m very old and very
tired, and I really need a rest.”
She laughs in surprise and says,
“Then. guess what, Grammy!
You’ll get to go and take your
nap with God!”
Ann Keiffer
April, 2011
