Watched
They are here not with
kitchy wispy filaments of
wings strumming harps
Rather they are in the
breeze-brush against my
cheek, the stir of the wind
blowing hair stinging eyes,
insinuating themselves
down into my swallowing
gullet – prompting a brief
instant of heart-stopping
breathlessness – a sudden
choking cough –
they are here -
Turning my head,
Opening my eyes,
Parting my lips to speak
in their place as I live this
life of mine – Memoir and
memorial - so theirs will
not have passed in vain
They are watching –
I feel a grandmother’s
nod, a father’s laugh, an
unborn baby’s raw cry
admonishing me forward
to live
plunging hands hard
deep down elbowed
into pungent loam un-
til blossoms burst
a-new …
again
legacy
lives
on
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