Grandma's Wild Lace

For the little ones
Grandma grew lace
in her backyard,
twining like ivy
up the willows
and the sycamores,
a spider's snowfall.

Stopping to smooth
the curtains from our eyes,
she flicked the sun in
through the fly screens.

We never noticed the dusk
because the house still smelled
of melons and bagels
and matzo ball soup.