i woke. i didn't know why, but grew conscious in the change of my breathing, a change that had not yet occurred in the blurry figure next to me. i blinked, listened to the even sound of his breath, in and out, in and out, a light snore punctuating the end of each exhale. i didn't want to move. if i moved the moment would be over. what this moment was I wasn't sure, but i drank in the details. the curling hair on the nape of his neck, the small brown mole on his ear, the texture of his skin, taunt. his back moved with each inhale naked against me. my arm twitched, wanting to move, but i breathed in deeply and refrained. my breath louder to me now that it moved at a quicker pace, echoing in the brightly sunlit room. even in my stillness something was noted by him though, and he began to shift. don' turn, not just yet. i wound my arm around him, my hand against the warmth of his stomach, his back pressed against my breasts. he pulled at my hand with his, we were looped, my arm stiffened, hesitant, then relaxed. breathe.
Cuando se van las abuelitas, se va una parte fundamental. We are pulled from the brown soil. Roots exposed. We falter, droop. How can we continue without the cariño of their warm hands to support us? Nourish us con sus caricias. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se van los almuerzos y cenas que no más ellas hacían. Las comidas that tasted of their love can no longer exist. The tacos crispy and brown, won’t taste the same. The flavor, like a duende, can’t be caught no matter how hard we try to capture it in our own kitchens. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se nos va el lenguaje, porque ellas nos hablaban en español. Nuestros apodos como Güera, Prieta, Niña, Mima, y Mija se desaparecen. We ache to hear the sounds of our names from their lips and grasp for their words. The ones we didn’t know we would miss. Cuando se van las abuelitas se nos va el amor duro. We lose the sharp tongues quick with consejos we didn’t want to hear at the time. Se nos pierden los dichos and the wisdom we...
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