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



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