March Wind This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By
Hot talkative breezes press against her body
as she makes her way through
the parking lot of her nine-to-five
a proud force full of 60-70 years wraps itself
around her face like heavy mahogany make-ups
permanent salt-smoothed pearls wait

in the shallow wells of her eyes

her hands sway slightly with her walk
they have fallen cripple - war-torn cripple -
from 46 years as a street hustler’s wife
but they are still good for greeting
she smiles at a passing woman’s toddler
with radiant false teeth and a thin line of visible gum
she remembers her children and the pathetic Christmases
that consisted of her sister’s left-over turkey slices
and slightly damaged thrift-store board games
- Where is Daddy? Mama, where is my daddy?

she remembers

but she makes it to that door
dragging what little the March winds have not worn away
and she makes a decent life for the seven grandchildren
that paint each soft black strand bold gray because

Love holds her bones together now.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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