who am i
i used to wonder, wonder still;
me watching me watching you, little one,
exploring the world one daffodil decapitation at a time.
every livelong day is a matter of great importance and small monotonies.
me, i have been here before, with your mother, aunts and uncles,
variations on harvesting clutch-size stones to throw into a brook until more is enough to cross the street to home.
like the other afflicted women, i was young and definite when the longing old as procreation swallowed me whole, left me to suffer patience.
this is in no way a complaint, though it has been 10:17 for three minutes.
nana you say, and as observer, i say yes.
insistent, your grubby fingers take my hand, slide the universe into place.