That nose 

with all its summer freckles

the one you are now using to smell 

freshly cut grass and 

press against a plump tomato from our garden 

It is your grandmother’s nose 

and before that, it belonged to someone else

Those eyes 

Where did that blue come from? 

Not my side – must be your mother’s – Spanish or Scandinavian 

four hundred years ago they watched candles flicker 

from tiny windows beneath an Iberian moon or 

saw seals lounge like drunken sailors on rocks 

jutting from icy Baltic waters 

Your mouth 

opened in laughter ages ago

and your lips wrapped around 

the words of prayers prayed in other languages

to gods you’ll never know 

This face of yours 

that one day you will hold  

to the sharp scrutiny of reflection 

each feature traveled generations – across space and time

to bathe in this day’s light 

This face belongs to you

but is not entirely your own

Please,

love it.