Clad in indigo

Clad in indigo, the past’s presence holds firm to the railing,
a reminiscent grandmother picks us up and turns the pages of childhood stories:
of glee, shame, and the meaning of family.
Ahead, skipping up steps, facing forward, off the page,
we follow a little girl, rekindling youth, dressed in red,
she grips our hand and pulls us into the surest unsure we’ve ever known,
always two steps before us, exploring–