Picked in May of ‘21

Nothing, nothing, nothing, and even on the mountain, nothing.
— St. John of the Cross

We buried you in polka dots
On that bright hill that overlooks the grove without cares.
And we carried you four-a-side, and placed you right beside your beloved, 
Just as you asked, and if you care to look to the East, you can see the Smokies
                                                                                                layered and amaranthine.
The preacher, with his good old logorrhea, kept on 
About you being worth more than rubies.
                                                               And while I obviously agree, 
You might have said his rationale was frailer than most. 
I don't reckon he knew your pale blue bible cover
Was as likely wrapped around novels about prairie lovers 
And horse thieves
                          as the good word.  

But the spray kept nodding its blossoms in agreement anyway.
The breeze has a funny way of doing that. 

When we last lived close enough to drive 
I'd call before we left and ask if we could bring you anything.
No Grandbaby, just come on over that mountain, you'd say
And have beans and sweet tea waiting,
                                                            even after you couldn't stand.  

And while I don't yet know what I think about all he said, 
That holy roller was right about one thing, 
You sure were certain.
                                   Now, I'm not that sure about most things,
These days, but I do know 
The subjunctive just wasn't your mood. 
You were matter of fact 
                                     and glad of it.
You'd say things like Honey, the best way to get is to give 
And Can I fix you more cream corn, baby? It's the one we picked in July of '93!
                                                              You remember that? 
Been waiting for you ever since.
                                                  And I always said yes 
Because it was damn delicious with pops of corn 
Dotting the yellow pulp,
                                    and because you loved effortlessly.  

When I last saw you, you were on a mission to meet my daughter 
and deliver the good news. You held her close 
                                                                       and whispered, 
Child, you are so wanted. You are so loved. So wanted. So loved.
Over and over until it was dark dark dark.  

And before you left I asked, 
                                           Grandmother, you need anything?
And you said nothing, Baby. Nothing, nothing at all.
Just come on over that mountain sometime, 
                                                                  I'll be seeing you.

Many thanks to Lisa Russ-Spaar for the prompt.