Continuity of Love

Between forehead kisses and freshly baked cornbread.

My grandmother spoke what cannot be unsaid.

She told me the closest she got to heaven was looking in the mirror.

On her deathbed she told me, I was her mirror.

My eyes were replaced by stained glass lenses.

Squinting as I peaked through rainbow picket fences.

Enclosed by love, my emotions became boundless.

Rigidity of masculinity became rounded.

Only in silence is her voice still heard.

Of course, grandma's hands, yet let's not forget her words.

In between a clasped hand and a flatline.

I learned that love carries the continuity of time.

As green tomatoes fried to Blues guided melodies.

My grandfather shared that when he dies, he'll still love me.

I was thrown into crisis.

How does love emanate from a body lifeless?

The room spins and my thoughts could not resist.

Until they became fixated on something I missed.

Matter cannot be created or destroyed, scientist insist.

So before any of us, love already had to exist.

My grandmother taught me that self reflection is loving the God within.

My grandfather loves me beyond his body; how could I not love the one I'm in.

Instagram showed that traveling puts a smile on your face.

But love informed me that I am my own happy place.

Fortified by Ancestors with and without name.

Look close and see their reflection at the edge of my picture frames.

I learned that love carries the continuity of time.

Where time can't be still, but love doesn't mind.

It's a paradox.

In stillness I found love where permanence defines strong.

On the other hand.

When my grandmother's curtains closed love said, "the show must go on."