Abuelita

A delicate, braided chain of gold.

A minsicule elephant

Made of immortal ivory.

Sign of luck.

Yet, even more. 

Traced through generations.

In our own secret history.

Already passed down, to me.
Pressed close to this chest,
In hopes that the sheer, willful, strength of my
Ancestors will pour into me.
Illness is setting into a woman who truly beholds
Beauty.
Beauty that surpasses common belief of
Antiquity.
A face creased with lines of worry,
Laughter,
And love.
Creases that have yet to fill with
Dust.
A body wearing down,
From years of life.
Slowly, subtly withering away,
But the spirit continuously burns brighter.
Lived too long,
Loved too much,
To fall away, just yet.

Grandma, I love you. Hang on for us, please.