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I tossed the kitty into the air.
My grandfather, cooing, “Oh no, no no,”
the cat dropping
into my arms like a football.
It looked like Figgy who slept on top of my head
those nights I wedged between my parents
watching shadows scratch the walls
like daddy longlegs.
Tata said, “Don’t hurt the cat!”
and I laughed,
“It isn’t real!”
I pulled my grandfather from the sinking chair cushion;
he grunted like the starter turning over and over
in his old Saturn until it jerked forward
and drove to our house every Thursday.
I should have learned more Spanish.
​
-
​
These children, funny and full of life,
new words every day;
I strain to catch each syllable, falling
como una naranja
before they mature.
Silly, this one, like her father;
she giggles the way all children do
and smiles like a little devil,
clutching un peluche, a kitty cat,
to her chest,
before throwing it high in the air.
I rise, my old bones creaking
my palm firm against the chair cushions;
she pulls with all her strength
to get her abuelo standing,
wilting with la vejez as she grows.