I live in a birthday photo with
my grandchildren, beloved,
residing in tangible immortality,
and they smile back at me
as I gaze with distance but
still intimate soul, seeing their smiles,
innocent of the woes of all that
I and we carry from this world,
still seeing life as living now as play,
still with open arms that are
not just for grotesque display.

And in the photo I am present,
but not for long, for my years and
theirs are worlds apart, but still I
am bound to them, my dear ones,
with biology, skin, touch and grace,
but my love is threaded with the
melancholy, a grief about what the
world will bring them when I am gone,
and unable to gather them in my arms.

 

27/4/2025