For my grandma

Today I wanted to buy a postcard and send it to my grandma

She died three years ago

She smelt of mint humbugs, 

The shiny striped abdomens of candied wasps wrapped in crackling plastic

And the soft, warm of buttered toast, 

Strands of scent rising two floors up to my attic bedroom,

The smell plucked, picked and teased upwards 

It was a signal that she was here

She was here! 

Our joyful squeals: Grandma’s here!

Her toast under the grill, was always thickly spread with Anchor

But that was before the statins and her proclamation:

Clair,  if I have to give up butter, I may as well be dead

We laughed. But we knew you meant it. 

It's the little pleasures that make life worth living you said

Like  EastEnders, mashed potatoes and peas, 

Hardback books ferried from the libraries

A humbug sucked last thing a night

Taken from a bowl beneath your bedside light

Dissolving in your mouth while you read 

Long pink brushed cotton night gowns, 

A completed crosswords

A 20 pack of Craven As and a lighter with in arm’s reach 

A mobility scooter your chariot

Prawn cocktail on special occasions and a tomato everyday

Your small spidery hand writing on Christmas and birthday cards

With love 

from Grandma 

I hope they have butter you can slip a knife through in heaven

Old friends, your sisters, and brothers

I think you are dancing, 18 again

I loved to dance, you said,we danced right through the Blitz,

The bombs were falling, but we didn't care

We were 18. We were 18, Clair. 

She always wanted me to get married. 

I still have money. I will buy you a dress. 

The last time I saw her in hospital, she said that.

Her only advice: Never Marry anyone Irish or Italian

I tried both Grandma, and so far you are right.

Every time I Iight a candle I tell her I am still working on it

Well try harder, she replies. 

I wanted to write you a postcard

To say thank you for the love, the perfumed hugs,

The care, the cookery books, the Bon mots that float to me occasionally, 

But mostly now, for the fact that the simple everyday smell of hot buttered toast can conjure you back

And with it the bone deep knowledge of what it is to be adored.