“Petuni’s,” Grandma called them.
I put them in the window box
as if I were tucking her into bed.
She could lie there,
snug and warm,
soaking up the summer sun
with a quilt of pinks and purples,
laced together with fine green stitching.
My fingertips pressed the earth
around their vibrant stems,
buds giggling like children,
in my Grandma’s dreams.