"Grandma," I whisper, tracing her arm's map,
"Your elbows hold secrets—faces in the folds.
This one looks like Aunt Gladys, smiling,
And this other, here—an angry pitbull snarls."
She huffs a breath through her soft laughter,
Pushes my finger away, a slight protest.
"Nelson, exploring me isn’t your expedition,
You’ve done enough cartography for today."
But I am not quite finished discovering,
Not ready to fold away her human atlas.
"Can I see your knees? Just for a minute?"
She plants her hands on her hips, unmoved.
I think of all the maps I haven’t traced,
All the rivers of stories in her freckles,
The valleys carved deep in her tender joints,
The gold laced between her silver-threaded hair.
"You’re lucky I let you see my elbows,
Those are sacred grounds, boy, sacred grounds!"
She shakes her head, a queen in retreat.
And I, a would-be explorer, left smiling, still.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: May 19th, 2026 10:41
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments2
Each wrinkle, varicose vein, piece of hanging skin and mole a mark of a life's journey. Well written Gray
Thank You Soren
You are most welcome Gray
Excellent, loved it!
Thank You Katie
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