Newly grown into her teens
she stands tall over me,
delights in remarking
how short is my stature;
a ritual to be endured
perhaps treasured.
She inhales deeply over
my head
pulls her arms about me
and whispers how she
loves the fragrance
of my hair.
The fragrance she
associates with her
grandmother.
Is this to be her primary
memory? Will she
recall her early years
when she spent
all her growing,
sleeping hours with
her grandfather and me?
Until her mother moved
a far distance apart.
When our daily care was no
longer required
and another world awaited
drawing us a distance apart.
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