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this season inevitably comes with its cool, its gray, its rain tapping at my window and its slow seep of nostalgia – the foggy mist of memories rising in my heart. i remember her long index finger tracing invisible lines on the tablecloth, her chin resting in her other hand and in her eyes a distant gaze visiting another time somewhere in the past – perhaps her mother laughing, a lover wooing. i would lay my head down on the table and peer at her over my elbow, the steam of my breath warm to my nose. i’d study her, almost to the point of memorizing, though today i find my memory fading. i do, however, remember her wrinkles were marked and unsuccessfully covered in a powdery tint from a pink circular box which now sits in my closet – the smell of which seizes my heart and, momentarily, brings her back to life. sometimes her music played in the background and tears streamed from her eyes…

si tienes un hondo a penar
piensa en mi
si tienes ganas de llorar
piensa en mi…

piensa en mi
cuando beses,
cuando llores
tambien piensa en mi…

i’d touch the soft skin of her arm to break her thoughts hoping she’d turn and reassure me with that sideways smile. though, i knew well, a smile meant she’d stand up and walk away. how i long to take her hand and say “don’t go, abuelita, sit with me and remember for a while. let’s gaze into the past together, cry our tears and listen for the melodies of our youth rising up like the love we yearn for in our hearts.”

Abuelita

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