Round and Round Come the Grandmothers
move with outstretched hands.
They are singing round and round
the mulberry bush, and they are happy.
They romp like children in heaven.
They play hide and seek with the saints.
They do not know that they are saints.
They believe they are their own children,
and they are drawn to the sound of their laughter,
which moves through their souls
the way light moves through leaves on Earth,
the way the mist rolls off the bayou in the autumn
and lingers in the Spanish moss.
They take us toward God.
They bake our favorite cakes.
If we daydream, we might sense them
move through us, especially when we rise
before dawn and stand in the kitchen
to prepare for our day. They pray
for us, when they feel us miss them.
They stop everything they are doing
in heaven, to pray for us.
Their smiles are forever.
They are so fine and patient and lovely,
and they wait for us. They wait
for us, with the most beautiful hands–
even time wants to hold them.