#258

Essi Kimpimäki1

Grandmother by Ilana Kelsey
You looked at me and saw my mother’s face.
We thought old age meant occasional slips—
back then, we didn’t know that this was grace.

When we were all younger, you would chase
me through the parks, swing me onto your hip,
and smile down into my well-loved face.

We rode the flying Dumbos (and not Space
Mountain) and I got a Minnie with pink lips.
How could I know at four that this was grace?

Now you hug your own stuffed bear, to chase
away apathy. Or despair. Your grip on time shifts;
today you don’t know my face.

Before, you used to welcome an embrace;
you’d chuckle at our family’s silly quips.
We failed to see this as a state of grace.

Time travels on at a relentless pace
but time is not linear: it soars and dips.
You’ll look at me once and see a loved face.
Recognition itself is a kind of grace.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s