On cold evenings
my grandmother,
with ownership of half her mind –
the other half having flown back to Bohemia –
spread newspapers over the porch floor
so, she said, the garden ants could crawl beneath,
as under a blanket, and keep warm,
and what shall I wish for, for myself,
but, being so struck by the lightning of years,
to be like her with what is left, that loving.
Mary Oliver
ai art by me
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