My grandmother tells me that
there is a party of women whom I've never met
watching over me from heaven,
guarding my heart,
protecting my spirit from above the reaches of my mind,
I can imagine these women,
their white gowns draping over my head,
tickling the tops of my ears,
whispering to me from between gusts of wind,
between the lulls in my thoughts.

My grandmother tells me that
my heart is the only heart that’s ever reached out to hers,
and hasn’t found discomfort in the closeness.
I imagine my veins growing out of my body,
reaching across to her from our
opposite sides of the dining table,
I imagine them intertwining,
becoming one.
I imagine our heartache mending one another’s.
I imagine us finding solace
in our collective hundred years of broken pieces.

Two generations, decades apart, healing one another.

My grandmother tells me
that there is a party of women whom I have never met,
watching over me from heaven.
I loathe the thought that someday,
I will know one of those women watching over me,
when she is the keeper of my heart,
when my veins have to reach above the clouds to become one with hers.

My angel,
in life, in love.