Nana and Gabe

Crooked in my arm

I look over at your curly eyelashes

and plump hand holding the book with me

my youngest grandchild

Making me unmistakably

older and elderly

treasuring the fleeting years

that you are too young

to worship youth

Still too young

to join the tribe

that seeks identities

without connection

in a world where family

can mean brand and logo

Still too young

to think of beauty

as the closest approximation

to airbrushed models

wrapped in consumer goods

My oldness has

excommunicated me

from prominence

from the tribes who claim

power and relevance

perchance, I am the meek

who will soon inherit the earth

in death at least

I am trying not to cling

to your innocence

just remember the moment

our shared meekness

in different phases of life

I ask you

which is your favorite room

in this graciously appointed home

where my visit

is a pilgrimage of love

and you think long and hard

and I am guessing

the play room or the sunroom

and you say

‘your’ room

the visitor’s room

where we are snuggled together

treasuring the moment

the gift we are to each other.