is too like the lightning. Name our mother:
oldest ancestor, but first human. Lucy
is the largest diamond in our sky, a star
that sings as it cuts through time, spinning
like a top in my grandmother’s ancient
and cosmic hands.
Lucy is the girl at the park. The one with
blood on her knees; the one turning
to look at you with two blue butterfly
pins askew in her hair, toppling over,
eyes as sharp as the day they were born,
3.2 million years ago.
Lucy, I miss you, when I blink into the feral
and remember that my blood is hot,
my hands are big, my dreams are warm.
When I close my eyes I’m sleeping in the tree.
I’m walking history upright into
the future. I know you.
We are the same age - young, but no
longer children, matured, and facing down
the world. Cradle the rest of time.
Nurture us into being. Speak us into
the past. Give us your ways of seeing.