rice and potatoes.
Condensation hit the glass like a fly in the summer swells, swirling, ascending, buzzing angrily.
were my first six years in October than a thousand years ago.
the cluttered kitchen of her grandmother's breasts, her aprons, tea towels, rags, pot holders, tablecloths and napkins.
"Look at the cartoons, grandma"
"What's it say?"
"The Princess"
was not true. There was another written
phrase, the title of that episode I can not remember more. So I found out he was lying, that reading could read, yes, but slowly, spelling out a little 'and some' guessing. He lied.
I could not understand, I guess. And loved with more affection, too, that little girl out of size.
rice me my heart I knew.
knew that I knew: the rice has the heart.
Grandma, the words squatting on your knees, tenderness and desire to care, dressing and going to sleep, to heal. In your many years and many pounds has run blinded the girl you were and you're still.
What are you most now that I look at you and make you laugh a little issue, and singing, and getting to meet me chin.
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