I Think of My Grandmother

By Carri Kuhn

I watch the steady stream of water

pouring into the jug,

early morning sun

reflecting off the glass.

It is beautiful,

the way the water fills the jug

without effort or thought,

or calculation.

It does what water does,

filling,

being poured out,

nourishing,

holding light.

And I think of my grandmother.

People say I look like her.

My brother says I have her hands.

I like hearing these things,

like to think of the way

perhaps,

my fingerprints carry the lines and whorls

of her path through the world.

I like to think

maybe,

that as I look out from these eyes

she looks with me.

“See that, notice this,” she says.

And I pay attention

to every quiet word.