Communion with my grandfather

Body my old friend,
I’m surprised by
this vehement no. 
I may not, cannot, even when
it’s for the children, for justice,
for all I love with my still-beating heart,
go on. I must lay these heavy bones 
down. Be still. Be still. 


Portrait by Sue St. Michael, who didn’t know how much it would remind me of my grandfather. He died when I was ten. He was sixty when he died, and I am seventy-four now. There he is, his DNA written on my face and throughout my years. Weary and kind. That soft old face spotted, pitted, marked and lined with attempts. His. Mine. I yield to the vehement body. I rest.