It had been wobbly at the bottom, she said.
Up until she lay giving up her last breath, she'd crossed the hall with her brand new wheeled quad cane.
When I shattered my knee, I found the abandoned piece behind the wardrobe, where I occasionally hanged my work jacket.
The handle was surprisingly shiny, the bottom firm.
I remembered how pampered my granny was,
How dismissive of the suffering of others,
How dismissive I was of her mean spirit.
Perhaps now I am able to reclaim some of her victims,
Where I may occasionally hang my work jacket in a small box of memories.