After Sappho  

Your sibs embrace my gift of song pillows—
I Love You a Bushel & a Peck—
but you are angry, your face a cloud.

Your priorities are clear:
you love pups and planes and space, heroics,
not useless things, with words you can’t read.

As I age, I want my songs to sift into your soft skin,
your head on the pillow as white as my hair.
When you throw the pillow down and stalk away,  

I feet myself shrink, ache,
no light dancing in my eyes. 
Or yours.

I cannot roll back years, hours, minutes,
only cling to the hope that time will change you,
as it has me.

I will love you dawn to dusk,
bring roses to scent your way until light ends, earth turns,
for you are beautiful and young.  You too  

will journey forward, finally grip my years. 
May my spirit accompany you,
still singing.