When I was a child light shone
angels through my fingers
crowning my parents’ faces,
blessing the simple tasks of theirs:
table setting, pouring water—
how it lit the world in my upturned smile
and flowed through as I grew
and how it followed me home
and stayed, even in the dark.
Light was the water, earth,
reflecting off every animal,
every street, everything I touched—
the light always ahead,
the darkness, just softly behind
—doubts, questions, thoughts—
light, enlightening the dark words
of my mind and mouth.
And when the darkness caught up,
and I watched my parents fall behind,
my body/smile down-turn to groan
and my thoughts and words
turn to memories— I realized how
the past was always near and how
grief turned everything to light.
