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.

My father.

My aunt.

My uncles.

A whiff of their nearness brushing past

Every so often.

Brings comfort.

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.

And grandpa.

His picture was always near her bed.

Stately and tall.

Intelligent eyes.

Confident chin.

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.

Mixed emotions.

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.

So many.

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.

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