PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She used to laugh as if my presence was everything she aimed for. When I came home from school, my dad’s mom would be waiting on the kitchen waiting for me to close my eyes and let my sense of smell rush into deducting what we were getting for dinner that day. She used to have this thing of hers when she will put some Lola Beltran’s music on the background and she would start dancing leaning on the broom and singing as if the spatula was her microphone. She did it quite frequently, most of the times she did it thinking no one was watching her, letting her feet embrace the music and her voice fill the void of silence. But I used to watch her, almost every time I would just hang on behind the kitchen’s door to have some time to admire her before she noticed me and would laugh of embarrassment as she asked me to put on the table. The thing is, I never once thought she was making a fool of herself. Her voice sounded like chocolate tastes like, sweet and creamy; and the delicacy with which she moved was so astonishing I never got tired of it. I remember those days as the happy ones, when she would double my dessert if I could guess what she was cooking only by smelling the kitchen hall. I used to ask her about God and I used to get amazed by her response, and not because I shared her believes, honestly at 10 no one can have the capacity to critically analyze the answers to those kinds of questions, but simply because the amount of faith she put on the things she did and believed on, was  completely outstanding. The years have gone by and I would say that’s what I miss the most, her words leaning towards my young criteria, embedding these ideas and letting them grow inside my head. I miss her voice and the smell of white petunias on her garden. I miss her dancing on the kitchen floor and cooking me double chocolate desserts. I’m proud to say she lived as one should live, recklessly but wisely… and even though It was a long time ago I still remember how those enchiladas with double ration of cheese tasted like. Without hesitation I can state that her legacy remains impregnated on the walls of that kitchen and on the sound of Lola’s songs.