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.

 

 

 

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