(August 2002)
A white handkerchief appears in
Her hands As she reaches up care-
Fully and seems, for a brief mo-
Ment, to embrace the sun. Her hand-
Kerchief becomes white clouds; her hand,
Sunlight; her remote face, the moon.
For a moment as she reaches
Up with hands traced blue, you see riv-
Ers where varicose veins are and
Read her liver spots as tea leaves
In the algaeic contours of
Her skin. And then, your grandmother
Slowly wipes your face off like she
Did when you were young. For a mo-
Ment the woman she was looks out,
Confused, at how you've grown, but
Then age takes her and hides her
Memory of you in some for-
Gotten room, and this, you know, is
Your future.
You never touch a
Handkerchief again.
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(The above was a paragraph found in one of my many half-full notebooks, which was then taken and formatted into poetic form to confuse people.)
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