My Grandmother in the Stars

By Naomi Shihab Nye

 

It is possible we will not meet again

on earth. To think this fills my throat

with dust. Then there is only the sky

tying the universe together.

 

Just now the neighbor’s horse must be standing

patiently, hoof on stone, waiting for his day

to open. What you think of him,

and the village’s one heroic cow

is the knowledge I wish to gather.

I bow to your rugged feet,

the moth-eaten scarves that knot your hair.

 

Where we live in the world

is never one place. Our hearts,

those dogged mirrors, keep flashing us

moons before we are ready for them.

You and I on a roof at sunset,

our two languages adrift,

heart saying, Take this home with you,

never again,

and only memory making us rich.

—

Photo: Misahualli, Ecuador, Dec. 2010. Poem here.