namesake

I enter the pantry-
lifting from the top shelf is not so easy
anymore
at last 
I reach it- translucent glass,
preservative, I pop the lid
and empty with a serving spoon
my granddaughter will be here soon.

door-bell-rings
door-knob-swings
open
and in she runs, comes
translucent giggles, grin
my kin-ship,
my translucent-skin grip
holds her tight
"sit down" I say
well-worn couch, "don't slouch
now, I'll be right back"
I go and make a pot of tea.

she's old enough now-
past the time of childhood's craft,
climbing trees,
needing newspaper to catch
whatever is dropped
and kisses on her scraped knee...
I put down the tray,
drop in her sugar...

wool and wood
"your stitches look good..."
linear move-ment    meant
to build on what came before
stitching stripes or
passing down family lines
(her project and mine)
we loose track of time...

wool and wood
"grandma do you think you could..."
I smile at my preserving hope
my namesake before she even spoke
and pick up the dropped stitch.