unbroken river v5

Unbroken River

For a minute today I think of them. 

My grandmother whom I lost at 10,

I carry her in my name,

and in fleeting impressions

of strength and sternness, 

whom I used to sit like as a toddler, 

legs outstretched while chatting 

with temple priests.

My grandfather whom I lost at 25, 

him I carry in a million little ways - 

in a song on the radio that we both loved,

in the way I walk when lost in thought,

larger than life in my father's stories,

in my 'O' Level English Oral 

as the family member I admire the most,

every Jan and July 7, 

his last birthday, celebrated with just us,  

three grandkids and his soon to be son-in-law.

My other grandfather, a shadowy figure at best, yet him I carry in a handwritten prayer 

he penned for me the eve of my wedding, 

that by some miracle I still had years later, 

that I learned to say at one of my lowest points, 

that I still give copies of to young ladies desperate like I once was, 

for a child.

And my grandmother, she whom I see

in the contours of my mother's face, 

my daughter's and maybe one day, in mine,

whom I remember every special day, 

for she would be the first to call and wish us, 

on birthdays, anniversaries, festivals,

our direct line to God, 

the beacon whose passing 

is a gash in our lives so recent, 

we are still learning to live without her.  

Like four mighty water sources, 

they rush through my parents, 

shaping landscapes as they merge in me 

and branch out into smaller tributaries 

that are my children, 

an unbroken river through time.