Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Blake holds my face in his hands and falls asleep.
The blind seal calls his name from the top of the hill, Blake! Blake! Come visit me today. The peacock family waddles across the lawn, Come OWWt, Come OWWT, they call. From one eye open I am enamored by the curve of his cheek arcing huge like the  justice we are waiting for, and from the other eye his lashes dark waves cresting. Blake, who is your grandma? Do you know that when she was nineteen a man said she looked like a young Ann Margaret, and when she was forty a man (not the same man) said she looked like an old Bonnie Rait?  Whose hands are these that twirl the curls on the top of your head? Whose soft belly is this that your feet are kicking? The dog whimpers at the door, let me in let me in. Will the seal (who will I remind him of), the peacocks, and the dog know me? Do they say I got fat? I got old? Blake's Grandma wiggles free from his warm sleep breath. But then she wonders why and wiggles back in, absorbing all the baby peace she can. Steps away lie everything I fear for you. That's what grandmas do.

Blake holds my face in his hands and falls asleep.
The blind seal ...the peacocks...

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