You read playing cards and tea leaves, and always saved the fat
when you cooked in the old kitchen out the back, Nana.
You washed your smalls by hand, saved your wash blue in a jar
and cursed the sky when dark clouds turned it black, Nana.
You knitted woollen booties, crocheted doilies, sewed our clothes,
and never realised nothing you made matched, Nana.
When I look into your photograph, I do not see myself,
I don't recognise the woman looking back, Nana.
You left our lives when I was small, to young to get to know you,
all my days I've quietly regretted that, Nana.
Now I read tarot cards and tea leaves, but I never save the fat
and I hope you can look down and smile at that, Nana.
Christmas day is also the birthday of my late grandmother, Dulcie. I love you and miss you, Nana.