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.