Two Lauras

I should count myself blessed

to live eighty-nine and one-half years

and find myself sitting
in a far-away house

holding tight to my namesake

who shares my blood, the life of my life,

the passing on of my heart,

the handing down of the things that matter to me.

That matter to God.

I should count myself blessed

to arrive here and see

my own eyes in a young girl’s face.

Touching my cheek to hers,

as close as can be,

making invisible the lines

of nine decades of simple living,
of questions and tears, 

of wondering how it all ends

and praying on bare knees

and handling the here and now while always,

always looking to the future.

But here is the future:

time gathered together,

bound tight into the only moment that matters-

The very special space of

now.

To sit with that future

held to my chest,
where two hearts beat together,

hammering the rhythm of life,
of dancing days.
Even now,
as her locks flow down

and small hands reach up

asking for love, giving love,

struggling to say:

Here,
here in the only real space
we can love each other,

are the answers to the questions,

to tears
and to prayers
and the wondering how it all ends.

For it ends with a beginning.