Finding My Future In The Past

Grandma Jesse always said
bones were like ice.
Prone to break
and crack
if not filled with something.

My bones are full of music.
You can’t hear it
but the melody
be screaming out your name.

I sat for hours listening as her tired lips
talked of Dizzy, Glen, his band, and of course
Elmwood.
I was only five and stuck inside a musty house
watching every move she made as she crocheted
a new bookmark for the piano player at church.
I think it was her hands. They captivated me.
Cracked and fragile from life,
they always made me wonder
about how she used to be.

My Ross had the music in him too.
You’re gonna be just like him,
I can feel it.

Maybe that’s why I sat there?
A five year old finding himself
in his grandma’s placid eyes
and seeing he has just so far to go.