Zellie Eugenie, embodiment of  French elegance,
  consummate graciousness of a native Texan,
a lady ever and always, so delicate and so strong.

You are still my role model, Nana,
even far away, where you live now.

Your voice stays vibrant in my heart,
even after all these years of you living in Heaven.

It was a summer afternoon, expansive, warm,
like the residual, slight drawl of your San Antonio accent,
when I brought a little bucket of these dark, juicy berries,
picked from your own tree, into your sunny, quaint kitchen.

My parents were rarely away, so this time
when we could just be the two of us,
me staying in your ruffly, cosy guest room,
was treasured by us both, and each.

This, as it turned out, would be the day when I learned
to bake my first pie, beginning a life
devoted to fine cuisine that still stays at my core.

Your hands, feminine and capable,
skillfully gathered flour and shortening
into the shaggy, powdery ball of promise
that establishes each new pie crust.

I think you taught me then how to use tapioca,
added to the berries, to soak up some of that
deeply purple juice, as this first pie
bubbled to completion in your well-used oven.

Every time I use my mother's solid maple
rolling pin, sliding it forward on my palms,
I am one with her, and with you.

Do you get to see each other in God's home?

Or do you live in different neighborhoods?

All I know for sure is that you both reside,
forever adored, respected, emulated,
as best as I know how, inside of me...
from whence these tears pour, blurring
what I can see of what I humbly write
to bring you closer to us, way down here.

Zellie Eugenie DuBarry Downing Regan Wright,
your courage in following your heart, and withstanding,
as you must have, the criticisms of a world, of a society,
that likes to put us in categories, especially as women,
still informs my own courage under similar circumstances.

And so honour and admire any and all couples who remain together,
loving, supporting, respecting one another,
while allowing each other to grow into more of themselves.

Some of us, having put everything we have into each,
yes, each, of our marriages, have yet to reach the place
where we are on equal footing with our one true beloved.

May the dear Lord continue to watch over us,
as we bend and search and grow, and may we, too,
even much later in life, know what it is to be happily married.

Each of us women is one,
you know.

The sweetest smile, and all for me.
Loves come and go.
She stays on.

Smiling into the night ahead,
long dark hair
spread out widely
on her pillow, slender
arms resting
on all that softness.

She is the one who brings visions
in the depths of night.

Lucid clarity
and saturated, unknown colors.

Unvisited places, deeply longed for.

She tells me about the life within everything.

Underneath these words she gives me,
are sacred, and secret images,
abiding in silence,
abiding in vast inner space.

At last,
she is loved.

And she is listened to.

This simple sauce: twelve blueberries,
water, vanilla (no, I'm not going to tell  
all my secrets!) was everything I have
learned about celebrating frugality.

A red-headed woman, my young mother,
shining elegantly at a cocktail party
in a dress made by her
own delicately beautiful,
strong hands.

One three dollar silk remnant,
purchased in a little shop full of
cardboard boxes, each bursting,
to overflowing with fabric, and
texture, and color, high up on
Upper Broadway, in 1961.

Because you love me,
I can be.

Listening to you,
I smile.

In your invisible embrace,
I am whole.

There is nothing left to do.

It is all you.

It is all
you.

Out of midnight sky
unboundedness
one
dusky bluebird flew
straight to me.

Spreading his perfect wings
across my heart
I felt his feathers, felt his heart,
beating with my own.

"I will not leave you now."

"You have finally understood."

"And you have won my trust."

*"For always."