(for MLK day but early)
I go to visit her in her home.
No one else is there.
She sits at the head of the table,
But when I arrive,
She gets up to give me her chair.
She is 88 years old (and demented)
With light brown skin, chocolate eyes,
year after year woven into the plaits of her hair.
I stand before her in my apologetic whiteness.
Again she tries to rise on unsteady legs.
"I would not take your seat," I say.
I don't know where she is in time,
But I sense that our generations just met.
I'm here in the now taking care of her,
wondering what she's been through,
That won't allow her to forget.