Poem 4
One day, I saw my father’s mother
in the mirror,
looking back at me.
Her face the same as the
one I had seen
in pictures, but had
never seen or touched,
whose voice I had never heard.
Another day I saw my mother’s mother
in my hands
as I prepared a meal.
The same blue veins
and fingers
that I remembered holding my
little girl hands
as she told me stories
and held buttercups
under my chin.
This is how the love
of those we carry
in our hearts
never dies…
We see them
in the mirror,
in our actions,
a smile we give,
a gentle touch to another,
and they come back to us
as if they never left,
but were waiting for us
to notice them again.
Eve Remillard
8/13/2016
