when we create something
there is a simple luxury in having the ability
to stand before it, to take it in and
absorb the fact that your body
in some way or another
molded built or grew what, but a few moments before,
never existed

a legacy is easy to observe
in the first generation of its conception

but what will come of it
once it becomes something of its own;
when its life is not directly related to nor
in need of the fabrication of your hands?
when your child breeds a child
with blood passed down from your body
to another through another?

Brooklyn, the granddaughter of joy and light
the strength a mother’s mother could never foresee possible,
a glimpse of the child the first generation once was
the optimism of past present and future

Max, a man tearing out from a child’s shell
genuine wisdom not yet grown into the wise
with the strength and fortitude capable of ancestry’s pride
yet gentle enough to nurture the family name

Julian, the overflowing cup of heritage
a young boy encompassing the naivety of
a young man fearlessly curious about
a young world that once was so purely simple

The revelation of a grandparent is quite different from
the elation of the balance between the elderly and the infant,
it is a complex comprehension of the evolution of existence
a reliving of lifetimes seemingly so long ago
a daily gratuity of the gift of the present
and a knowing that we will always live on in this precious world we helped create

af

(written on computer)