Grandchildren

I wake beside you next to me
In the gradual morning light,
As the pastel linen of dawn
Is laid upon the night.
We fell asleep, you and me,
In the late-night of the living room,
Old photos spread across our laps,
We never saw the moon.
No one around to share this vision,
No one to ever know,
No one to capture the family likeness
In the subtle shade of cockcrow.
Your hand, speckled, lined with age,
Is a chiseled work of art,
Resting gently upon my own,
Encompassing my heart.
It seems I have waited 'til I had my own,
Instead of when I was thirteen,
To know to what depth grandchildren are loved,
Or how much I missed in between.


*de - april 2001