Dear Grandma Vera

it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world Invitations, Mary Oliver Dear Grandma Vera, You’ll be delightfully surprised to learn that I have a daughter. I know you did not expect me to have kids. I don’t think anyone did at this point (not that I am ancient, I just spent the last decade sure that it wouldn’t happen). But it did! Her name is Maia Jillian. I named her after Jilly because Jillian was the brightest light I ever knew

I want a love like the ocean that forces me to recognize how small I am compared to the force of it Like a tree with rings that grow each year like wrinkles that crease the edges of your eyes Like a summer storm that keeps the grass green and shakes the ground Like a fire with heat that teases the skin of your feet as you dance around it Like a butterfly so gentle you can’t even feel its weight on your hand yet capable of flight Like a star with light spans generations and

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.” -Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar *** Multitudes I am His calloused hands wrapped around my mother’s neck boots that beat him while he laid shackled flipped kitchen tables and slammed doors and birthday cards that say, “I am proud of you.” sweat and bruises and grime that flow from a blue collar life like storm water Her nimble fingers as they braids my hair crashes and screams coming from her