Twenty
Eight Years From Now
When we
will communicate only through plasma tablets
rippling
across the palms of our hands
Mayla
will hold her new daughter on her lap
(and
that will remain unchanged, the soft very fleshness of flesh, and love)
and say
look here, baby mine. This is your
grandmother.
This is what she looked like young, and with
the sun in her eyes
This is what she looked like when she married
your grandfather
Lace, and her eyes crinkled when she was
really, truly happy. I want you to notice that
This is the way your grandfather wrapped his
hand around her waist,
an anchor she could feel
I want you to know that your grandmother was
radiant as the truth
She was full of wounds but still standing on
her feet
She made fire in the world, made it brighter
She asked God for a good life, and God loved
her dearly,
and God did Her best to make it so
She loved me ferociously, simple as the sky,
as complicated as a river
Are you ready, baby mine?
Have you been paying attention?
Let’s go see your grandmother
She’s been waiting for us
She’s ready.
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