crown of your hands

maybe they are laughing

i turn my head

in the crown of my grandfather’s hand

the cradle of my godmother’s arm

i turn my head

attune my ears

antennae of my godmother’s arm

bends around me

attune my ears

that i might hear

time bend around me

toward another breath

that i might hear

the voice of angels

breathing eternity

never let me go

oh voice of angels

maybe they are laughing

please never release me

from the crown of your hands

(I have been working with this photo album for a while. I wrote over 35 pantoums. I wrote my first heroic crown of sonnets. I returned for the blessings of this day over and over for more than two months as a daily practice. What became visible to me was my longing, some of my old stories, some new revelations and most of all love. This album documents the day of my christening ceremony and I have been sharing and revising it during the corona virus crisis. But this place where my grandfather’s hand touches my head is the true blessing, the real crown. This poem is an acknowledgement and a prayer of what it is to be held and held well, blessed and blessed beyond. Infinite gratitude, infinite love, reclaim your crown.)