A Decade Later

Nana, are you up there chirping in the blue sky?
Swinging above the canopy pines
while watching me slowly age from afar?
Are there twice as many stars in heaven?
Do you spectate from a torn-up lawn chair or
slump in an oak rocker?

Nana, I think I heard your voice echo in the 
garden where the bird of paradise sings. 
It might have been the evasive light, but 
I saw you in the shadow of my mom. 
Sometimes I believe she sees you here as well,
but it’s in our faces. 

Nana, I miss the memories we never made.
Except for one Easter: you emerged as 
a bird and migrated from Jupiter 
to the trumpeting golden iris fields. 
I still hear you chirping in the blue sky, but
I’m just a decade late.