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The enduring love of my grandparents' hands Held within one another as they commit to stand Throughout the hardship and sufferings of current and past To uphold a legacy that will infinitely last
Swirling, swaying, spinning in time to the blaring music I close my eyes When they open, I’m a little girl
My grandma has a heart bigger than the Minnesota lakes she grew up on. She would give you the shirt of her back if you asked for it, feeds the neighborhood squirrels right out of the palm of her hand,
Her Paper VoiceBy: Sophia Huynh
The warm and stiff Summer air, The gentle dance of the golden stems, And the blue home placed on the horizon Are beaming in the sunlight.
Dear Grandpa, Living in silence Hearing clocks ticking Listening to the air vents hissing Watching the days roll by What do you imagine sitting and watching a life full of laughter
Dear Older Woman in the Grocery Store, I am your cashier. I scan your cookies, your cakes, your medications; I make polite conversation, delicately choosing my words As you delicately chose and scribbled each item
One day I hope For 50 years 50 years Blood sweat and tears It's beautiful to me That you've come so far Side by side Each battle each scar I can't imagine
you’re nine years old. At this time, you’re starting to lose esperanza.
Darling when we met; the stars smiled at us. Meeting you has been a treat my darling. Loving you darling became effortless. Our love grew as if a flower blooming. Time moved faster as we passed our prime.
She said that she’s done.
I remember when my grandmother used to bathe me in her pink granite 90s bathtub She would pick me up a cup, laced with BPA, and fill it with lukewarm water Never too hot, for it might harm the child
Rita June, staring silent at Indiana snow, robed up in a worn, old, pink throw lights her cigarette by the kitchen window. She squints and she licks her thin, blotted lips,
Her name was Grace But he called her Gracie. He said it in this tone of voice Like when a child sees a flower That had just bloomed in the beginning of spring.
Grandfather, If I can call you that, Would you have loved me as a child of your child? That is what I am. You left my mother so many times, Wounded a part of her spirit she doesn’t like to show,
Nonno liked to ramble. A fast paced almost jog that was impossible to follow. Never noticing those once rapt listeners dozing off in their chairs as he reminisced.
"Damn, what a fam," I say to myself As I admire our picture on the shelf Ask anyone of us We'll tell you that we're the best
It was grandpa’s old cigar box with my name inked on it in green When opening that rusty latch A flush of grandpa released; Cigar smoke
You are our grandparents. related? No. Family? Yes. Mr. Larry and Ms. Red, even though we call you that You are our family, thats a fact Always there for us when we are down, never do we see you frown...
It started with a small cross on their backs. They lived, and loved, only wanting the best for each other. As time went on, their crosses grew; and then came the moment where their crosses were united.
He moved here for people like me From an old place called Italy But never lost sight of his family And wanted them to see what he had He didn’t want them to be sad He had a son Only one
My grandfather's hands tell a story
built in a time when children knew better his hands not yet weathered the cabin in the woods stayed standing often stirred awake by the purity of child’s laughter
“The truth will always come out” they say It happened on that cold rainy day When Granddad passed away Not related by blood but by marriage The previous year My late grandma turned to ashes
Ask my grandmother what it is like to live with her husband, my Papa, and she'll point her doe eyes straight into your soul with a gaze full of fear. Fear of the constant storm that hangs
Family is a bridge to our past, present and future.
You are family Whom I have never seen The one that told me stories Whenever I was lonely I speak to you more than I do to Him who took you I’ve cried when you left me
I wonder if Patty smiles when angels bring my name up?
A walk down the open dirt road An adventure that’s never been told The sun is already at its peak Gracing the surface of my cheeks, Rays seeping deeply into my pores, receiving the vitamin D
I took your love for granted And I apologize I wonder what my life would be like If you was still alive You was a great man And taught me great wisdom I miss you
Painful Love Once I felt the feeling... A feeling so true and good,
"Well, there's Miss Beautiful," as I approach the porch step Another cherished day - for a horrid illness crept Bold brown eyes, with a happy, gentle smile Every last second was ultimately worth while
Crossig to the other side, knowing now you will preside; over me and all my friends. My love for you will never end, Until the day I close my eyes, and soon then i'll be by your side.
Books yellowed with age Passed on from generation to generation. Pages are worn, Pages are torn, Pages that are full of history. The distinct aroma of ageing paper, Fills my nose.
I'm sitting here in this empty houseListening to the hard rain pound on the roofWondering why you're not here.It's going to be way worse without you,I want this to change,
Before you were gone I imagined the way it'd feel,But it's all so different when I know it's real.You feel so close, yet you've gone so far.I remember your blue eyes twinkling like a shining star.
Pap Who Pap who needs Pepsi like a meth addict And sits on his couch all day Who is fried bologna and potato chips Who is a quiet mouse but yet a wise owl.
Stressed out, exhausted, and irritated, scurrying back to my old, trusty Subaru Forester, I abandon the library and heaps of unfinished work I deserted with it. Only a handful of vehicles left in the parking lot.
As I look out over this highway I think of all of the moments when you told me How beautiful I was How I was a prize How you would protect me from any others harm When we would cross the street
In a wooden picture frame that sits on my dresser is an old photograph of a young man. He has his arm around a pretty girl and it’s all in black and white. Even though there is no color,
I've taken the drive to Sacred Heart Medical Center with my father. Twice. The first time, my life was at stake. But the second time, was what nearly killed me. I was told
Cracked cement sidewalks, dusty, chiseled powder. I remember when there was fresh gray mud, smoothed over by Dad’s tools my hand pressed square into that cement, an impression to last.
You walk with grace, Humble and fun, With youth in your eyes, Always on the run. Ageless beauty, From a far off land, Filled with stories, More plentiful than sand.
A war veteran. You flew for your beliefs. You suffered the pain With no chance for relief. A husband. Your “Florrie” was your life. Nearly 65 years You called her your wife. A father.
Dragonflies. Glittering throughout the summer sky. Shining like my grandfather's emerald green eyes as he smiles on the Fourth of July. Many more dragonflies arrive in celebration. Look! Red, blue, green and many others.
Red, white, and blue, Lain over the oak box. Four hands, twenty fingers— Grab hold, begin to fold, Into a tight triangle. Ever so perfect. They hand it to my dad, Edges folded in.
You've been there for me from cradle to teen, being the best grandma you can be. Loving and caring for me all those years, for when we are apart, I think of you forming a lake with my gathered tears.
You are: Always there to listen and watch. You wonder: If you have been forgotten because you have not seen us in a while. You hear: That we are coming and your hearts jump for joy (especially when Tucker comes).