ON THE WISDOM OF ANCIENT GRANDMOTHERS
The snapshot is fading.
Obi-clad, grandmother stands
with delicate hands clasped, smiling slightly
as if the burden of knowledge that travels
kaga-borne down the path of years
yet contains occasional delights.
Her venerable dignity belies the spirit
of generations which, quick to flame
at moving mountains of sumo,
causes the family doctor
so many anxious moments.
Through her eyes Hotei capers,
wrapped in early morning mountain mists
of Nihon's hara. Ah, Grandmother,
you speak silently through the eyes of progeny
with a twinkle that captures
the smothered fires of Earth itself.