Wrinkled hands relentlessly search
For the missing partner
Of my yellow striped sock,
Our daily game of hide and seek.
A timer dings! and she takes a break
To shuffle her way back to the kitchen
And stir the simmering pasta pot
She is no longer able to lift.
Seventy years of cream pies,
and mended sweaters—
La dolce vita she always says,
At a milestone where many lose hope
Grandma knows her mission is not yet finished
Because the gravy is almost ready
And that sock must be around here somewhere.