BEAUTY

Beauty, held bare sometimes by only memory or imagination,
beauty like cornbread and sorghum with a pat of butter on top,
melting like your breath after a first kiss—when the heart, for a moment,
you know all but stops. Beauty, like the baby
who would become, or already is, your brother—
a child, more like you than the family can possibly imagine,
turns for the first time, into the bend of your elbow and whimpers—
and you, for this first time in your first decade feel the awesome rush
of belonging and purpose, a reason to be strong and caring,
a reason to go on living— this is the beauty we hold—

sometimes, if only by memory…