Abuelita – Writing 101, Day 6

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your tanned face,

wrinkled from laughter,

love.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your skinny legs,

holding you up,

like two feeble table legs.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your humble eyes,

so dark, ancient,

shine with serenity.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Walking the dusty streets,

with your worn feet;

shoes so old, they’re falling apart.

 

Yes you.

I see you.

Black hair pulled back

in a long trenza,

falling to your waist.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your dark hands,

wrinkled with age,

hardened by cooking food

too close to the fire.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your tattered rebozo

hangs off of your skeletal shoulders,

providing almost no warmth,

as you huddle beneath it.

 

Yes you.

I see you.

Working on the farm,

peeling tomatoes.

5 pesos a day is not enough.

 

Yes, you.

I see you.

Your body’s crippled,

but one look in your eyes,

and I see strength and pride.

 

Yes you.

I see you.

And you see me.

Our eyes lock,

and you know that I know.

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