Grandma Georgia

She will rise
from ground
her dust transformed
incorruptible—
emulsified with eternity

She shall not pass
from earth's endless wilds
She will tend her garden
and see a thousand
seedlings sprout

Out of that abundance,
she will set a table
for a thousand generations
Those washed but no more waiting
They will come to her table and call her blessed
but for now she rests
planted in a garden
waiting winter
for not yet Spring.