Grandma Robin

My promising hands withdrew from ivories.
Crows feet waving back at me,
bright white and glistening always.
No matter...
From the tan Volkswagen
with wood paneling
I’ve never seen one, but
In this branded electric Prius- that is seen,
there is no renaissance woman
No aged library full of books with, never, leather binding
Only thin lines and typed texts.
You fed the squirrel outside your study
crunchy peanut butter and berries
It would leave a trail of crumbs
That would guide me to the museums  
Where electric static shot out
And kids would play while you read to me
the podium beneath the exhibits
And I would learn of topographic maps
But you didn't put me to sleep
You were the one who kept me awake
But my eyes were heavy anyway
I’d hide from paintings of wheatfields and crows
Under sheets of winters snow
broken coasters from Korea
Are still with me
On my Thoreau desk, no,
Covered in wires and LED’s now.
The cords and cables get in the way and the keys stick
I write too late
Like a long overdue book that you deserved and wanted
I walked by the library every day
But now the penny change is uncountable
Snow blocks the entrance way
And the blistering cold is seeming to stay.