The bounce in each footstep,
resemblance when I reach the doorstep.
Choir tenor, usher adjusting church shoes,
tracing compasses, coloring in you.
Family picture frames in a worn out living room,
descendants yelling for leg room.
Sandy eyes swaddled cinnamon skin tones,
knock knees and hard heads skipping stones.
Curly hair, dear, pushing her buttons,
closer than brothers, visiting distant cousins.
Stirring serving out of tar covered pans,
Sunset wrestling inside Her Hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem