Witness my grandparents unroot,
slowly laid off from earthly life.
She, heart revived, cracked
and mended sternum in its wake.
He, isolating hearing loss,
wide oceans of silence.
She, cancerous slice eating
the whole bosom
against which I lay swaddled.
He, loss of a driver’s license,
who taught all of us to drive.
And still, the vivid blue green eyes I inherited
the ones that skipped a generation
many generations after the train stations
that the conquerors who mated those eyes
into our line built
have begun to crumble.
Held close, his shoulder blades
pierce my palms
and he says
Ana habetik min el awil
I have loved you from the beginning,
and I reply
Lak, ana abla
No, I have loved you longer.