Granny's sleeves

I always found them agreeable and greatly starched,
gentle as her wrinkled smile, cozy as her rocking chair -
much, much before I tasted an anisette of ominous sunshine,
listened in awe to the tired city-tuned machines.

My Granny's long sleeves were embroidered with gold
fables: they smelled of old-fashioned doughnut cakes -
the fragrance of a piteous love that I still inhale
from a tilled earth, after a fresh bout of rain.