Grandma was a talker,
to the plants in the yard,
to the stray dogs and cats
who decided to stay for a few random years,
to the polite hobos
who borrowed the big skillet from the kitchen wall,
to the self inside me.
While the scientists prove
in distant sterile labs
the effects of giving
and I laugh at their Johnny-come-lately findings,
I sit here, and I touch
the headstone, warmed like her by nature's subconscious,
and Grandma talks to me.