an ekphrastic from a photo, Granddaddy and Q, by Mia LeNoir, 3.30.25

Your grandson’s cherub face, lit up in a grin—
as he turns your grown-up wrench, tightens a joint
on a 2 x 4. You, knelt behind, push up glasses
he’ll surely wear one day. He wears your
beige canvas work apron well, wound twice
around his small frame. Both of you in jeans
and khaki shirts blend together, against a green future.

Your toolbox, open nearby, spills out love and time
and heritage. His toolbox, smaller, but just as full.

He turns the wrench again and again,
throughout the day,
tightens the hold on your heart.