Betty (a poem for my grandmother)

September 29, 2006


I remember the creek behind grandma’s house

I remember exactly how it smelled

I loved going to grandma’s house as a kid

The meaning of grandma changes as time goes by

As the taste and age of wine changes

Some years are good and some are not my taste


I regret not writing to grandma

I feel much time went to waste

But the times I did spend were educational

She made me value my own beliefs

Since she was stubborn in her own

Some beliefs I related to, some were not my taste


I know what it’s like to feel special around grandma

Knowing that she tells her friends all about me

That I am an important topic of conversation

She made me want to talk about her too

Like my favorite color of cobalt blue

She colors the world to my taste


I know my family history because grandma took the time

To collect memories about all of us

I feel worried that I will not be able to replicate those memories

As well as she does

I am afraid that I will not tell these stories

To the taste of my grandmother


I know that I will tell others about my grandma

Despite her stubbornness

Despite her closed mind to my religion

I will only know how she was a part of MY life

I love her just the way she is, because she helped make me, who I am

She is my grandmother and the feelings she shed to me taste wonderful


-R. Velarde (2010)



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