Thank You Seeds

Grandmother,
you planted these seeds.
Two generations ago,
and now,
the fruit is a pucker that moves
mouth to soles of feet,
and I miss you.
In the videotape from Uncle,
your voice is different,
my memory always distorts,
hinges like a rusty mirror
on all of the things
I am working out in my self.
But tonight,
none of that matters, Grandma.
It is only you and me,
tasting this sunlight in our bones,
the dusky light of the fruit.
I smile and tilt my face to the sky with its stars
that haven't moved to make room for morning,
and I say
thank you