My mother welcomed the sabbath,
lighting candles.
Her head covered,
her eyes closed
as she whispered her prayer.
Her house spotless.
The smells from the kitchen intoxicating.
Her table was adorned with a white
starched tablecloth and
crystal goblets for wine.
Silently she uncovered her head,
the way her mother had,
and her mother before her.
My mother's mother accumulated
a dowry when I was born.
Dishes and lines all chosen with intention
but mostly love.
She is present in my thoughts
as I think of my granddaughter.
Holding silver candlesticks that
I will gift to her.
How beautiful they are
for the home that she will make
some day.
Her eyes sparkle bright,
her smile is infectious.
Her sweet face can light
desolate paths,
and dark days and nights.
She was born with a crown on her head,
during a global pandemic.
The days were challenging
but she was the sun and the moon.
Enveloping us with love
from her first smile.
