Hair always dyed a shade of youth and vigor,
remnants coloring the papery skin around her ears and forehead.
Little round body that tells the hard tale of Mexican women-
low to the ground for work and round in the hips for babies.
Breasts too small for her body and a heart muscle too weak for all that she would feel and experience.
Ankles swollen, eyes rheumy, thick glasses. Her Spanish not accepted; English not sufficient.
House dresses in so many flowered patterns, some shade of pink always on her lips- creeping through the lines forming there.

And she was beautiful. Magnificent. The Queen of my heart. Read more…