Hello Gran.

[Aish]

The candlelight whispered on the walls
of the room; like her, the bed was old
and cold. The quilt was older, stitched
with her nimble fingers in the not-so-roaring thirties,
by the light of a huge open hearth volcano.

A cut glass perfume bottle by Lalique glimmered.
Filled with her essence, the scent of Guerlain;
it was who she was. It permeated the space
in the cedar shuttered room like words in a book
of love poems, or coloured glass in a Tiffany store.

Looking at the well worn slippers on polished pine.
Feeling the room share her breath as she did
with warm-elderberry-wine kisses on my cheek.
No longer sorrowful of her being alone
I snuffed the candle and sat for a while
In her company.

At first read this is softly beautiful. I like the ambiance you create and the character you present. You introduce candlelight and hearth in S1, then tie it up with snuffing a candle in the penultimate line. It's all kind of sepia toned and mellow, with the exception of your volcano metaphor, which is garishly out of place. And of course you already told us Gran was dead [like her, the bed was old
and cold. ]

In S1 we have homespun images of a young woman quilting by hand in the not so brilliant light of a warmly blazing hearth, and indicate explicitly the quilt is still in daily use some 70 years later. Then in S2 you expect us to believe that same humble senior citizen collects high end crystal perfume bottles and fills them with Guerlain, which isn't top shelf perfume, but also isn't dime store. And then you end the strophe with a Tiffany reference, a couture establishment. It does not ring true, unless dear old Gram had MPD.

Stand out lines for me were
[It permeated the space
in the cedar shuttered room like words in a book
of love poems, ]

and

[Feeling the room share her breath as she did
with warm-elderberry-wine kisses on my cheek. ]