Memories of you in the garden 
        reading or falling asleep.
Your fun-house grimaces—
        Do it again, daddy.

After a year
        not steeped in grief
Yet it lurks, an armory of memory— 
        a choke-hold on my heart.

And in the next moment gears shift 
        with a child’s smile
the small hand I hold—
        a fourth generation hard-wired
to another corner of my heart.