by Sharon Hammad
My grandma sends me packages.
She sends them through the post.
They travel here from far away,
Around the world, almost.
She wraps them up in cellophane
And ties them up with string.
Each day I wake up wondering
What will the postman bring?
Sometimes, Gran sends a special shirt
Embroidered with my name;
Sometimes, a photo of herself
To show we look the same.
Sometimes, she sends a story book
With writing I can read,
A funny, farty pillow case,
Or something else I need.
She knits me thongs and woolly shorts
And sparkle-arkle gloves.
And always there’s a note that says,
‘To Sam, from Gran with love.’
I wish that I could meet my gran
One day before too long
So she can see how tall I’ve grown
And excellently strong.
But now that I’m remembering,
I guess it’s been a while
Since one of Grandma’s parcels popped
Out from the letter pile.
Perhaps, she’s busy working hard;
She probably forgot.
Or, maybe, she’s in bed with flu.
Poor Gran! I hope she’s not.
What if she found another boy
Who lives nearby her place?
She might not think as much about
This boy who shares her face.
I know. I’ll send her something too,
A precious gift I’ve made,
With bubble wrap to cover so
The swirly bits don’t fade.
My gran will get a HUGE surprise.
‘Good gracious me!’ she’ll say.
She’ll put it on the mantle-piece
And write back straight away.
As weeks go by, I wait and wait.
It seems a bit unfair.
The postman rides right past my house:
He doesn’t even care.
Then one day, there’s a loud rat-tat.
The door begins to shake.
Gran’s parcel must be too big for
The letter box to take.
The hinges creak. The door swings wide.
A shadow blocks the way.
‘Now where’s the boy who looks like me?’
It’s Gran! She’s come to stay.
Sharon Hammad lives in the Blue Mountains. She writes short stories and poems for adults and children. One day she hopes to be a Grandma.
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