The Afterlife
My grandson and I put in a day’s work
in the large yard around the farmhouse,
we trim around the base of the trees,
weed the gooseberry bushes in the garden,
chop out poison hemlock
on the road bank in front of the shop.
Today is the start of summer vacation
and he chose this over the swimming pool,
his dad told him to put in an honest day’s work
and I see how his twelve year old body
runs so much more efficiently
than my seventy-six year old one.
Soaked in sweat
we sit in the shade of a hackberry tree
and slowly sip our ice water,
he’s talking about the seventh generation
principle of native american tribes
then takes my picture with his phone.
I’m rough looking,
flushed, with my hair in wild disarray,
he asks if it’s ok to save the image,
he wants to store it in his archive.
I tell him that if he keeps me in his heart
fifty years from now
I will still be alive in his memory.
I’ll only be sixty-two then he says,
I can keep you alive longer than that
.
