"Nonna"

Demu?!
You’re going to do what, Nonna?
I don’t even think to grab my brother.
Fratello, she’d say, Giuseppe.
We run into the house
“Get out of my way!”
“Move!”
We cram our frightened faces in front of the window
Who needs TV? We got…
 
An angel with reddish-gold hair
Love-filled, transparent eyes –
Too overflowing with compassion to demean
by likening them to a mere color.
 
Those angel eyes, peacefully demanding sympathy.
No joy is greater than the joy in those eyes…
No pain more endless when rain falls.
Hands, frail from bestowing unending care upon each and all.
Hands that labor for God, for humanity,
even for the front page of a newsletter.
Just once.
But how she laughed!
Nonna, the hand model.
 
But right now, those hands are protection.
Fearless Nonna.
My brother laughs as she picks up his hockey stick,
To swat at our enemies:
Hornets.
To clear the front yard.
Two growing young men,
Outmuscled now and forever by you, Nonna.
 
Her risotto-love – always enough for all.
Sometimes it seems like too much, there’s no way.
But family, friends – even strangers – cannot help but indulge.
Mangia, she says.
 
I think sometimes of Heaven.
Of eternal peace.
Though none can fathom the next existence, I say this:
If God shares only a fraction of her goodness,
Her love,
Her generosity,
It would be enough for infinite Earths.
And how lucky we are,
How lucky I am, your Luigi.
To have that Heaven here.
Con la mia Nonna.
Ti voglio bene.