I still remember my grandmother,
Although I saw her, maybe seven times,
Past the age of two.
And maybe she remembered hers,
Or a grandfather,
And so on back.
The quilt of human memory
Is connected, but not
Linear: we remember those
Who remember those others
Who remember those still others.
It has been said
That you die a second time,
The day the last person who remembered you dies.
But I don’t think that’s right,
Because someone still remembers
We’re connected, but different:
Separated in time, by other connections,
But still —
It’s a beautiful