A Grandchild’s Grace

Is grace a thing revealed in a child?

For there’s the effortless beauty of her hands,

the dimpled knuckles—kisses, one to ten—

her hand in mine for safety in the wild


and graceless grown-up world. A tender favor

from above, this life entrusted me

with grace that knows no price—mine for free,

to be returned … but now, at least, to savor.


She dignifies my day with such a prize …

a present that I carry through the street.

I wear a secret smile for those we meet,

but even as I try to memorize


the outline of the tiny bird that flutters

in my palm, the child has left grandmother.




Leave a Reply