We cleared the table quickly,
her knitting untouched,
as we settled in our places
against the tiled kitchen wall,
I a teenager, she my age now,
waiting for the Italian-dubbed
teleromanzo, Dallas.
We watched silently until–

I forget who we watched kissing–
my grandmother said wistfully,
che dolcezza!* Better
than the meals she prepared,
the siesta confidences she invited,
the many sweaters she knit,
I remember her appreciation
and longing.

*what sweetness