PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I remember those rainy nights when we used to go to my grandparent’s house. They were not my real grandparents, they were my dad’s friends and they lived in a small town named Tepehuanes. My dad used to live there too and we visited them every time that we could. I was about 5 years old. My grandmother was an incredibly kind lady, there was no one who had bluer eyes or whiter skin than she did. I remember that I thought she must have been a princess when she was young. She loved everybody and was loved for everyone too. My grandfather, on the other hand, was really quiet and almost didn’t speak when it was not necessary, but when he did he told these beautiful stories about his childhood. He had a gift for storytelling. He had really thin hair on his head so he used to wear a cowboy hat even inside the house and he had a grey hair mustache under his nose. We used to have dinner at their home: frijolitos, quesadillas and delicious plates my grandmother cooked for us. I always asked my grandfather to tell us a story when eating and he would go back to the time when he owned cows and horses and there were dances all nights and ladies would let their handkerchiefs fell down to the floor in front of men. When we had finished our dinner my grandmother would take out the mugs. The coffee was already out for adults to keep chatting. My grandfather would take out his dominoes and asked me if I wanted to play with him. Sometimes I didn’t want to play domino and we played cards, he thought me a lot of games I don’t even remember now. I loved playing domino with my grandfather, he always let me win even when I grew up and was capable of noticing that I didn’t deserve to win, but when I told him about it he would shush me and say that he didn’t know what I was talking about. We usually played four or five times before I began to feel kind of sleepy. I would lay on the couch and my grandmother would cover me with a blanket. The last thing I remember to listen to, before I fell asleep, were the dishes crashing in the sink and the gentle laugh of my grandmother.