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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4069 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Untitled Silvia Brandon-Perez My grandmother is singing in the pipes, soft hum of the stove. She is walking through walls. T. Ballard Abuelo Gerardo has always been with me. He left the planet in the early seventies; nobody told me for several months- they said because we had been too close but perhaps it was that they forgot or didn't care. When I heard, it was incomprehensible at first. Later I acted the part of an elizabethan mourner, all gnashing of teeth and rending of clothes and moaning moaning moaning framed by my small studio in Flushing, Queens. Sometime that week abuelo visited. We played a game of Scrabble. His visitation cheated with a twinkle, used new words learned in higher realms; death had not changed him. I began to ask him for help when tough questions loomed. He never left, his pointed white beard is always somewhere to the left of my forehead. He is always reading lines of Blake or Wordsworth while I lie in my bed sleeping. Sometimes he shares poached eggs with me at my small dining table. He is my knowledge that love never dies. |
