Had to share this given the subject matter. Beautifully expressed Becky!
In the broad brim of her Sunday-best
hat, lie motes of space dust – genes
she gifts her son, his daughter, her son
and his daughter. One hundred years
in sepia. Right there. While she is washed
in last century – her heat and chaos stopped –
her alchemy lives on. In us. With a shot
of developer, stopper and fixer, his hands
halt time, freezing her fleeting mundane
to still history. Our gaze, alight with
recognition (her nose? his bright eyes? )
revives her now. She’s us and we are she;
spiraling this cosmic string.