Tears clear dust from the eyes

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Might I, if no one minds, crawl from the

rubble of this world

to speak of what you’ve done?

To note the earth below the collapse

and the sky above it, light piercing

the gloom and colors born of its shafts,

and greet the other rubble people rising,

shaking dust from their shirt,

weeping, believing

and starting again?

Your granddaughter, your namesake

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You were in your last days

and you’d open your eyes

and say you were tired.

We said, Sleep, and

We’re going for a walk.

I didn’t like that it was wet in the woods,

but there were acorns,

and that, she said, was what you did together –

make dolls of them, and sew.

Once she made pants. When she

thought she was, she said, I’m done,

but you said no.

You pulled stitches and fixed the seam.

You wouldn’t stop till you got it right.

Which is what you’re doing now, she said:

piecing the past and pulling tight the seam.