"Hija, bring me the leche."
I ponder too long;
my grandmother waits
curiously.
I go to the refrigerator;
I think,
pulling out the milk
as the cold air reminds
me of the winter to come,
how distant I am from her,
how different,
how badly I want to share
my thoughts with her,
but I'm ashamed
because I do not know the words
I wish to use.
I do not even know the Spanish word
for grandmother,
and I'm am ashamed.
'98 Blue Mesa Review