Significance

Front porch creeks with a new chair, joining the cricket chorus
And she lifts me into her enfolding lap;
Flushed cheeks turn up to greet deep grey eyes
Pudgy knuckles trace, cup and grasp;
and I sing, “Do you see me Nana? Do I matter?”

Deep sighs, exhale, into the peeling chair
Arms numb, I rock her in my expanding lap;
Tired dark circles grace my aging face
Dish pan hands reach, peel and clasp;
and I whisper “Do you see me baby? Do I matter?”

Aches and pain melt into that old groaning chair
As I rock, a lonely, knowing lap;
Crowsfeet and wrinkles mark my sagging face
Then transparent hands lay flat
And I wonder, “Did you see me darling? Do I matter?”