The Dream of Reconciliation

i could not know what to expect
from my visit to Pennsylvania Hospital
holding the hand of an inner child
once burned so badly as to be
unrecognizable;
lovingly, patiently, reparented
by her future self; a witch in copper

a nurse helps me cross the styx
and leads me to the room
where they have got Old Cronus bound;
gone, the wild eyed titan
who devoured his children
in his place a gentle man
small and vulnerable in the 11th hour

Old Cronus is no more; at least,
he is not the angry storm I feared
As a little child carried on his waves
the seas are gentle now
our journey nears its end
What matters is the simple touch
of a hand offered in love

"Who are you?" the old man asks
then his eyes, still bright and clever
alight upon the bound red book
i hold closely to my chest
like a child clutching a teddy bear
recognition, relief, and regret;
i am the daughter-who-was-his-son

and this old book i've brought
is one he gave me as a child;
tolkien's masterpiece
read to me on nights he didn't drink
a sacred text in our family's lore
that accompanied my uncle and my aunt
on their way through death's door

but today is not that day;
it is not yet time for silver gates
or the white shores
of a far green country
today is a gift from unseen gods
who reward love with love
and the dream of reconciliation