How long has it been since we talked?
I mean really talked?
Remember a time when it was normal
to sit in the silence between the conversation and just feel at ease?
There were moments of intense emotions.
And also boredom sometimes.
But, underneath, a deep resting in the steadiness.
Those who have gone hang in the air.
A whiff of their nearness brushing past
Every so often.
A sense of the deeper connectedness of things.
What about the next level down?
A remembering of the last generation.
The deeper roots.
For me, it’s grandma.
Pure white hair.
A fiery twinkle in her eye.
“You are an artist.” I hear in her voice.
I remember you.
Thank you for all you birthed, generated and cultivated in your lifetime.
His picture was always near her bed.
Stately and tall.
I have no memories of my own.
But I know his likeness; recognize his way.
Thank you for your sense of purpose, wisdom and steadfastness.
And peppermint grandpa.
A mind so filled with knowledge.
A body left behind.
Do I carry your legacy?
Or your wife’s?
Did the pain die with you?
And those I can’t remember.
Feeling their optimism for my life.
And other heavy difficult currents sometimes.
Respect to you for all you have generated.
These are my roots.
I accept your support.
Thank you for allowing me to be.