"When She Asks About the Photo ..." by Christopher Fox Graham

When she asks about the photo

do not tell her that is her great-grandma

the woman she just met weeks ago

for the first time

the woman whose name she shares

whose blood beats in your mother's heart

in your heart

and in hers

who held her weeks ago

taught her how to pet a dog

gently

so he would not nip at her fingers

who gave her Teddy Grahams

in a Ziploc bag

when she asked you, daddy, for a snack

she was always giving that way

do not confirm who the woman in the photo is

she already knows

because her heart beats the same blood

as your heart

as your mother's

and great-grandma's

blood knows blood

despite the distance between computer screens

DNA is a helix handshake defying the digital

wrapping through history 

but she will ask still

and you will tell her

When she asks why great-grandma is in the hospital

do not tell her great-grandma is dying

the woman she just met weeks ago

you knew she was dying

that's why you went

why you boarded the plane with your mother

and your daughter

drove across the wide open

that is Montana

sailing the seas of field peas, mint, lentils, flax, safflower

to the wheat fields that made your family

her dying

is why you came

so they could meet

Sylvia Rebie, meet Athena Sylvia 

four generations 95 years apart

say hello and goodbye

in the same breath

one of you beginning

one of you nearing the end

she doesn't ask why we are here

why Montana is

why Arizona is away

why your wife stayed there and did not come

your wife, she cares too much

would want to help

but there is no rescue here, no salvation

you want this to burn, to hurt, to cut deep

to scar over

you want to bleed into this soil, this farm, this homestead

these Redfields

leave part of you in this dirt

where you never lived

but to where you are bound

and when they ask

this is where you are really from

we are here to say goodbye

your daughter does not know this

it's why great-grandma asked us to come

but your daughter does not know this

your daughter only knows the green

open fields with no fences

dogs playing fetch, gophers evading

pronghorn leaping over fences

deer that rarely see cars on these roads

flowers whose names you do not know

but would if you had grown up here

your daughter would run for days

if you were not here to chase her

across the ranches and farms

that have fed your family

that shared the same blood and womb

so you pretend you're not here

for the reason you're here

wasting breath fighting fate

instead

listen to the stories

ask about the photographs

accept the books she wants you to take home

take photos of them together

so years from now

when she asks about her name

why she likes puddles

how she learn to pet a dog gently

so he would not nip at her fingers

you can point back to this and remind her

of her legacy

let her earn these memories

let great-grandma laugh with one more great-granddaughter

so no hill can hinder that sound 

echoing from horizon to horizon

it's why Eastern Montana so is perfectly flat

just over the border

Death glows in the red sunset, 

waiting

but in Montana, 

even Death 

must take his time

When she asks about the photo

do not tell her without speech

that is someone she knows 

dying

you don't have to

you are sobbing 

without speech

words evicted from your throat

she knows this burns, 

this hurts, 

this cuts deep

because you left your blood and tears in the soil

at the homestead,

in the Redfields

where you are all really from

she learns shared blood makes fathers cry

but she doesn't know Death

he is still just a red sunset

instead she knows the green

the wheat fields

the dogs, the deer, the red barn

dancing at her cousin's wedding

the old woman always laughing

she is where your daughter is really from

When she asks about the photo

don't tell her that is family

dozens bound by wombs and rings

don't tell her great-grandma is there 

beneath them

in the soil next to Papa

where you are all really from

don't waste breath fighting fate

her heart beats the same blood

but now she knows 

where she is really from

"Dear Daughter" by Christopher Fox Graham

 

Dear daughter,

for the last three and a half years 

you, your mother and I have been 

a trifecta of awesome

you the cataclysm

your mother the emergency response

and me the PR department

I cannot predict you

nor aid in the recovery

like your mother

I merely tell strangers, “it could be worse

“be thankful this is as bad as it was 

“this is the damage you can expect to see

“now, go and tell your relatives you survived

“warn them of what's on the horizon”

for three and a half years 

you have been the center of our world

now, two planets will emerge from the darkness

twin stars rising above the horizon 

a pair of orbs to orbit alongside you

I am sorry you are no longer solo

but I am not sorry you are no longer solo

your mother is doing all the labor

I only assisted

I am the RBI

Mission Control

riding shotgun on this out of control stagecoach 

off the cliff of having twins

You have not gained competitors

nor enemies 

but co-conspirators

allies in your little girl revolution

fellow doombringers

heart pirates

hunters on the savanna

warships in a squadron

raining down hellfire at range

Athena wasn't alone either

after she sprang fully arm'd and armor'd

from the mind of Zeus

Hera bore her siblings, too

you will be a trifecta, granddaughters of Chaos

We have gone from trio to quintet 

we do not count by even numbers in this house

me alone, then your mother and you

then the twins

We are a Fibonacci family

we do not yet know who or what they will be

but if, like you

they are equal weights of metric-level amazing

I can only imagine you'll love them as much as we do

they will not be strangers

but as more you, than I am

after all, they're only half me,

half your mother

but you and they share more DNA

and in the end the three of you are more the same

than I and your mother are

keep this in mind

they are not opponents to counter

but allies to co-opt

so do not be jealous

we are having them 

because you are too awesome to be alone

they exist because you were a victory

that needed replication

they are your echoes

evidence of your success

you are first and always will be

I love you singularly for all the days of your life

instead, imagine them in their differences as 

sidekicks

wingmen

your accomplices

Jedi padawans or Sith apprentices

the double-barreled Boomstick

to your Ash Williams

Companions to your Doctor Who,

yes, my blue pickup is the TARDIS

but when in time

your mother and I spent our last

and we are no more

when we are ash and worm's meat

you and they will be what remains

not echoes

nor sequels

nor reimaginings

nor remakes

but the copyedited versions of our rough drafts

new testaments to the old religions

you are the sins forgiven

the word made flesh

the dreams come true

the better versions

of what we wish we were