Until a Sunflower Was Uprooted

Grandmother, you never spoke to me before
You never told me you were game
To watch tendrils sprout between
Your toes and you would always agree
To go barefoot and walk over the land
Saying nothing about our enemies
Before you would be caught dead admitting
You had ever grown too old to dance the cha cha cha
Was I too young to understand
Nothing would ever change
In your house of spirits.
Heaven was upon us now
But we couldn’t see it.
It was then you told me: all good things
Descend from the impress of creator’s palette?