Nocturnal for Grandmother

Look. This is the garden you have watered. In the wet season the grass grows over. Untrimmed, the hedge is still in flower.  We have set tables across your porch. Stacked them with plenty, more than we can ask.  Above us, lights fill a second sky; windows, left wide, sing the evening rain. Do you see? Over your shoulder an earthen bowl brims with ash and laughter, as guests come to sit with us awhile. Their children and yours are playing at the swing. Their gifts are tucked among our twos and threes. Look again. Late December, and the tree is hung with fruit. These are our faces, that are turning  to salt. Our feet that linger and are now stone.

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