I listen to my grandmother
tell of loss and despair
in a foreign language.
I do not understand her
but carefully follow the
movement of her pale, trembling
lips.
Her eyes fill with tears
and her voice is shuttered as horror
fills her face and her body
becomes stiff.
Her expressions turn blank,
like a fresh piece of paper.
She becomes quiet as if
she is reliving the horrible moment.
My mouth is pasted with dryness,
my eyes are still searching
her mouth
for an answer
which is not there.
My body becomes tense and rigid
as she releases a breath
and brings one of her hands
to her face
to wipe away the tears.
But only some of the tears disappear.
The rest remain ...
because we must remember.
I listen to my grandmother
tell of loss and despair
in a foreign language.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




Join the Discussion
This article has 2 comments. Post your own!