For Our Ancestors When We Meet

 
 
when looking into a mirror, my mother gazes back
with that twinkle in her eye, evidence of the love  
she offered, never being short of having enough
for all who entered her life.    
 
as I repair a chair, broken in rough house play
I recognize the hands and skills of my father,
taught to me during the many patient hours spent
at his side while growing up
 
eating a piece of buttermilk pie or any of an assortment of dishes  
I taste the thoughtfulness of my grandmother, for she always
made sure no one walked away hungry from her table
even insisting the leftovers be taken home by her guests.
 
even today when our family gathers to enjoy time
with one another, it is my grandfather's sense of humor
that is prevalent in many conversations and good natured  
ribbing exchanged amongst the smiling faces
 
we all are but a composite of our ancestors, a miniscule
piece of each and perhaps someone else's as well, borrowed
 and held close during our journey through life.
and when I meet you, it will be with these pieces of them
for to do less would be a dishonor to their memory