for Earlene Hamilton

plain text below.

i think you liked flowers.
i remember there was so many plants on your porch,
like aunties, chatting over glasses
of lemonade or mugs of
coffee.
Not special, not front and center, but
out back,
where grown folks speak
and children stay quiet if they wanna learn something.

I remember foliage like a Black woman´s hands,
like your hands,
soft with jagged edges,
brushing across my 10-year old temples,
elbows,
knees,
turning bones into resting places,
soft. I remember your hands.

if Granny was still alive, I would tell her
how much magic her hands made.
how much of the Holy Spirit flowed through her fingertips.
how much asé she had.
I would tell Her how many of her children raised children who raised children,
how many plants those children loved on.
How many aunties brushed tender hands across tender temples.
how many of those temples were tended by her own hands,
her hopes, prayers, dreams.
I would tell her how many of her dreams came true.
I would tell her we are still dreaming.
Still dreaming,

still.
-domi