I'm Looking At

I'm looking at my hand as it writes on lined, white paper. I'm seeing my grandmother's hand - the thin skin pulled taut across the bones.

I used to think my grandmother's hands looked like they had green worms; the blood vessels stuck up all gnarly through her paper skin. My hands were different. Soft. Smooth.

I didn't know that my hands would become my grandmother's one day, but today I can see that they are. Skin stretches across bone - and are those the hints of my own worms beginning to show? Hmmm... I'm so glad. I miss my grandmother. But she's slowly coming back to me. As me.