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Cascarones MAG

January 8, 2017
By ch0c0lat3b3ar GOLD, Saginaw, Michigan
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ch0c0lat3b3ar GOLD, Saginaw, Michigan
13 articles 0 photos 0 comments
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I dream of Grandpa’s hands,
dull, cracked, with veins like
roots, setting themselves in my memory
somewhere between my sixth birthday
and fourth Easter.
Do you remember
those hollow egg shells
we colored on the kitchen table?
“This is where your dreams go, Mijo.”
Filled the holes in the bottom
with shreds of tissue paper and a
sparkling powder.
I still dream of you, Tata.
Breaking cascarones on my head.
Smiling, with eggshells shining in your hair
as confetti and glitter float somewhere into the sky

© Tina T., Norwalk, CT

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JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 1 comment.

LeisurelySketches GOLD said...
on Jan. 20 2017 at 5:50 am
LeisurelySketches GOLD, Tricity, Other
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Your life has a limit but knowledge has none. (Zhuangzi)

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The simplicity and nostalgia in this poem is truly beautiful. All the words flow so smoothly into each other, and the ending was inexpressibly lovely. You are certainly talented.