Song For my Grandmother

Did I ever tell you about the afternoon,
Several years ago now,
Hiking through a far away meadow
Of native Timothy grass and tall cattails,
How I stumbled upon a new tense,
One that exists to the left or the right
Of the past, the present, and the future,
And did I tell you how, after making this
Surprising new find, I turned to see
A quiet tornado sweeping up my footsteps.
Soon I was lost there in that meadow,
Both forever and for less than a moment.
I suspect a part of me still lives there now,
Because ever since I’ve been thinking about
The patterns of swaying grasses, like velveteen,
Only in gold, and so proudly ancient,
Swaying to a brighter wind than ours,
Swaying for the sake of enchantment and glee.

Moving over a ridge now, a small twine of stream
Washes into my mind visions of your wise smile,
And I hear your old warm voice lark “this too shall pass”