Eomma kisses her grandchild goodbye And I see glimpses of a younger her and I Watch from afar, glistening twilight behind. I’m nearly inclined to go closer but I bide my time, I remain on the sideline and take in the scene of my family before me. My siblings now the age I called my parents ‘young,’ but it doesn’t feel the same. Not with me trailing shortly behind. How many more years will I have? Three generations; the ones who made me The next two by proxy. I believe nothing lasts forever But I’ll still dream that forever comes of this memory.
