between the first eyes he ever looked into and the last voice she ever heard

the sweet smell of gasoline
on papaw's hands,

perfumed bends of granny's pearly pink
painted fingers,

chewing tobacco and peppermint shapes
of paw's memory in my own nail beds,

gingerbread needing maw's open palms on yellow formica
while a big black walnut watched
through the kitchen window

love falls
in gnarled and knotted biological braille
loud messy full

between lists of being and becoming
it's what we got_