Mexican Grandmother at the Park
Opal Palmer Adisa
her stockinet legs
rest in the sand
palms are clasped
warm between her
thighs near the knees
her four grandchildren
two boys two girls
ranging from nine to five
run in the sandy-area
kicking off shoes and socks
and throwing their jackets
on the bench
vaya a jugar
vaya a jugar
she says softly
the shoo of her hand
dismissing them
before her body
settles on the hard bench
her mind has wandered
como llegue aqui
she mouths
her eyes travel
to when she was
in her midtwenties
with four young children
pulling at her
and a fifth
swelling her stomach
cuanto que queria yo entonces
so much i wanted then
she pauses
rubs her
used-to-work hands
against her thighs
her eyes scan
and locate her grandchildren
a wave of sand clouding
her vision
she coughs
her heavy bosom heaving
time is a vulture
she spits
as she takes
the journey
that will not surrender
cuanto que quiero todavia
para mi
para mis hi jos
para mis nietos
her grandchildren
are throwing sand
at each other
one boy lays on the ground
and the others
cover him with sand
glancing over their shoulders
to assess their grandmother’s reaction
she doesn’t shout stop
so they continue
welcoming the contact
of sand on their skins
her eyes
are the ash
after the fire has cooled
las cosas deben de mejorarse
she sighs
the daughter
with whom she lives
occupies an old
beaten down house
much like the one
she and her husband
slaved for thirty years ago
the shrieks of her grandchildren
pull her eyes to the sand
basta ya
she orders
quitate la arena y
pon tus medias y zapatos
as she walks behind them
heading home
she rubs the sand
clouding her eyes
fue solamente ayer
she mumbles
solamente ayer
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