to the loveliest person i know

Mother’s Hands

The smartest girl in class. In the entire district.

Basketball player, ballerina, artist, nerd.

The girl who ran away from her family

to marry a handsome man they despised.

The girl who got beat up by Puerto Rican cholitas

when she first came to New York.

Big dreams, big city met with a slap in the face.

The girl with book smarts

and no street smarts

-Seems to be a running theme.

When I was younger

I told myself I’d be different from her.

They say kindness kills

And she was always feeding others,

While she was weak and malnourished

From her overly full heart.

But it’s strange

How I can see her identity slowly seeping in me.

Like a punch stain making its way

Through the intricate DNA of a sweater.

Though it’s not an obvious red

But a less evident flavor

Like clear white grape cranberry.

And I find her in my hands and feet

with veins that swell with the sunlight.

I find her in my “thank you”s

And the little nervous tremor in my laugh

When I’m speaking to strangers.

I feel her panicked politeness

when I dig for exact change in my wallet

at the checkout counter.

Her profile, a graceful neck and coiffed hair

Etched in the coins.

Those 63 cents. I cannot let it go.