Hidden in Abuelita’s Soft Arms by Daniel A. Olivas

Wrinkled and brown like an old paper bag,
Abuelita1 smiles with her too-perfect white teeth,
And she calls out as I run from Papa’s old, gray station wagon,
"Mi Cielo, come here! I need a big abrazo from you!”

5 And I bury myself deep, hidden in Abuelita’s soft arms,
Smelling like perfume and frijoles and coffee and candy.

A whole weekend with Abuelita!
I shout, “Bye, Papa!”

Papa smiles and drives off in a puff of white smoke.
10 I bury my face deeper into her,
Just me and Abuelita,
For the whole weekend.

We march happily into her house
Painted yellow-white like a forgotten Easter egg,
15 And cracked here and there like that same egg.
But it is her home,
Near the freeway and St. Agnes Church.

On the wall there are pictures of Mama and my two aunts.
And there’s one of Abuelita, so young and beautiful,
20 Standing close to Abuelito on their wedding day.

“Mi cielo,” Abuelita says holding my sweaty cheeks in her
Cool, smooth hands.
“You are so big! My big boy!”
And I laugh and stand on my toes to be even bigger.

25 And I bury myself deep, hidden in Abuelita’s soft arms,
Smelling like perfume and frijoles and coffee and candy.

From: LOVE TO MAMÁ A TRIBUTE TO MOTHERS. Poem by Daniel A. Olivas. Copyright © 2001 by Daniel Olivas. Permission arranged with LEE & LOW BOOKS, INC. New York, NY 10016. All rights not specifically granted herein are reserved.