Thursday, April 07, 2011
With the album spread across her knees,
she turns the pages of her life
where sons become brothers, nieces are cousins.
A husband died,
but peacefully, of natural causes.
Is this you? she asks, pointing to a photo.
I’m ten, my Brownie uniform weighted with badges.
You were so sweet with your band-aid knees and blonde braids.
You liked to sketch the horses we kept on the farm.
Her farm. Her childhood. The brain unravels backward.
Did I know you then?
I tell her that I am her daughter.
You are? How lovely!
She closes the book and holds me
as close as if one of us had been lost.