Her Hands
Her hands are smooth and rough,
like rusted metal in the rain.
Her heart is soft, like blue corn mush
on a Saturday morning.
Her hands are smooth and rough,
like rusted metal in the rain.
Her heart is soft, like blue corn mush
on a Saturday morning.
I awoke in sweat. When I opened my eyes, I felt like I was still dreaming. For a moment, I’d forgotten where I was. “get up, my child,” I heard my grandma say in Navajo. I closed my eyes again, …