Her hands were sunken in
bones pointed and protruding
Her face wrinkled, pruned and falling off
Her skin— blotched, sagging and looked as if she wore
A long sleeved t-shirt 4 sizes too big
Her eyes were tinted yellow as she looked around the room
Trying to decipher who was there
Or if she knew any of them
She smiled gently at the young boy
with straight back hair and one single single grey patch
A gene only he inherited
Abuela
Abuelita
Her eyes were shaped like crescent moon
But when she looked up and around the room
They opened wonderfully with child like surprise
She knew them
She knew she knew them at least
Mijo she called
Her son
A middle aged man with smile lines creasing the out harsher edges of his face
A kind man they always called him
Stepped forward and placed a familiar hand
on top of hers
Why are you all here?
The kind man smiled calmly
Because you asked for us
Because we love you
Because we don't want you to go
Because you're our home
Because we're scared
Because your our mother
He thought
But instead he said
Simply because we want to be
ㄴㄱㄴㄱㄴㄱㄴㄱㄴㄱㄴㄱ
For my abuela luz
la luz de mi vida
— scary tomato
YOU ARE READING
Acknowledged Waste
PoetryJust some poems. Some are mean, some lovely, some tragic-but all are true. These are parts of me I'm willing to share. Writing them has helped me, and I hope they help you. Thank you, scarytomato
