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Women of my Childhood

By , Clarkston, MI
Juice Mommy. One sec, hun.
One second wasn’t fast enough,
I wanted my juice now.

Jugo Nina. ¡Ay Pobrecito!
That meant she was getting my juice.
Now. But my mommy never said this.
Just Nina.

She called us Familia.
We called her “Family Friend.”
Nina would splash my face with agua.
Mommy would wash me with water.
I preferred the agua.

Nina’s hands spent countless hours
Knitting a blanket to comfort me at night,
Yarn flowing from her fingertips, her needles
Clicking rhythmically.
Her blankets boasted an array of colors,
Blended like the colors of an Autumn sunset.

My mommy’s hands ran across
her grey sewing machine.
Feeding thread into the machine.
Her blankets consisted of simple squares,
And solid colors. The colors clashed.
There was the occasional snag
Where mommy became careless.
Mommy’s blankets kept the wall warm.


Mommy was always busy.
But Nina’s lap was always open
For me to rest my head on.





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