I hold my grandson’s hand as my father
held mine, palm to palm with the warmth of life
in the fingertips of reassurance,
each step a question or pointing “look” -
Oh how many whys a day beholds
trucks and cats, jackets and trees -
time flickers, and I think of all the prayers,
word searches for the soul, I have struggled
to solve, and here in the gentle grip of trust
the answer flowers in the here I am
the impulse overflow that stills the thought.
How simple when my father’s shadow walks
in his namesake’s joy and I in ghost-mind walk
as zaydes walk on Friday nights, when heaven
and earth have come to rest and angel songs
are all that’s left, and blessings for each step.
held mine, palm to palm with the warmth of life
in the fingertips of reassurance,
each step a question or pointing “look” -
Oh how many whys a day beholds
trucks and cats, jackets and trees -
time flickers, and I think of all the prayers,
word searches for the soul, I have struggled
to solve, and here in the gentle grip of trust
the answer flowers in the here I am
the impulse overflow that stills the thought.
How simple when my father’s shadow walks
in his namesake’s joy and I in ghost-mind walk
as zaydes walk on Friday nights, when heaven
and earth have come to rest and angel songs
are all that’s left, and blessings for each step.
