When My Yaya Met Her Last Great Grand-Child
by Andrea Potos
She’d dressed up–
her best white blouse, red Christmas sweater
embroidered with holly and leaves.
She wanted only to hold
my newborn; her arms
made a hammock, swaying.
Her skin shone, unlined
as though she were growing younger.
at my daughter’s sleeping form.
She leaned back into the floral cushions
of the nursing home couch as though
relaxing into her last self, while outside the snow
sifted peace all around us.