Her basement was loaded with Native American
arrowheads, figurines, and other decrepit artifacts.
A row of dust-covered guns lined the back wall
next to an alarming amount of fossilized fish bones.

None of them, though,
were as captivating as her leathery brown face
that opened wide to expose her decaying teeth
as she scoured through timeworn encyclepedias of her history.

The next morning
she cooked me sweet-smelling pancakes,
the gooey chocolate chips melting into
the shape of a smiley face.