Good Company

the christmas before last, we gathered at my grandmother's house for soup and good company, for singing at the piano and warm bread. i sat on the pale green carpet in my corduroy pants, resting my head on my grandmother's small lap. she listened and talked across the table in front of her, adding her voice to the symphony of spoons and slurping, laughter. with happy, tired eyes on the commotion of the evening, her hands ran over and over and over my head, fingers through my hair, thumb soft on my forehead. quiet, below the table, i loved her and knew we were great friends, grandmother and granddaughter, bound together on earth and in heaven.