I am

I am

the tall Red Hollyhocks my grandmother grew,

the Crepe Myrtle my mother loves.

I am

the books my father loved,

the museums we spent hours exploring, 

the movies he took us to see.

I am

the laughter of my husband's puns;

I bask under his quietly watchful eye.

I am the conversations
with my daughter and her love;
I am their photographs:
the waterfalls, the fireworks, the morning sky.

I am the joy of our son,

the woman he loves,

the child he delivered,

the three he takes sledding,

the flowers he tends.

I am

the children of my husband,

their loves, their children five.

I am their music, their sports,
their smiles, their eyes.

I am.

I still am.

I am

the Beloved of the One who

holds all Beloved.

I am

the Winter Pansies,

the Red-Twig Dogwood.

I am

the pine trees

greener-than-green

in the winter sun.

I am my friends.
I am you.

I am

all those around me;

the hunched-over figure,

the smiling women,

the 5am men who buy their drugs,

the yogis, the sparkling tin in the alley,

the abandoned wooden cog in the street,

the gracious neighbor

and silent city skyline.

I am

the rows of corn,

the spiders un-stomped,

the peacocks

and longhorn

and wild kittens.

Who are you?

The Beloved also, that I know.