Your essence was
determined long ago.
You are the confluence
of generational gene rivers.
Each river a tributary that
in you is remembered.
I can see in your face a trace
of a man gone fifty years.
And you cast eyes upward
as a woman you never knew.
Your hands kiss a blossom
like your prairie farmer ancestor
returning home from a day of plowing
carrying freshly picked wild flowers.
You run each step like
my mail carrier father.
Yes, each stream has marked you.
Mighty river though you may become,
you are still of those
who came before.
Your being can never forget us.
And with your tributary
you'll pass us on.
Your genes won't forget.
But will the rest of you?
Will you remember
the stories I told you?
When the sunsets will you remember
that I told you the sun blushed
when the sea kissed it good night?
Will you remember the walk we took
and the flowers we picked?
Can you ever make a lemon meringue pie
without remembering
the patty cake game we played?
I was here when you were here.
You sat on my lap.
We counted in English and Spanish
and we laughed and giggled.
You chased the pigeons and the geese.
I kissed the hurt from your finger.
I tried to understand your Spanish.
So many years of memories
lived in so few days
How can we bridge the time between us?
I wish you could know me.
I wish I could talk to you
as a wise, old woman.
When the leaves turn,
the sun blushes or
a soft jazz tune plays
and you have a strange feeling
of deja vu,
then will you know
our souls ran together?