(for my 'abuela' Maria Luisa)
Abuela* refuses to cut her hair,
Every year she makes a new promise
To Saint Lazarus, and now
It must stay
Way past her waist
It dangles
Her tight bun
Unraveled
Like the gossamer strands
Of tarnished silver
Spiders leave behind
She never wears
It loose
For fear of looking
Like a foolish 'vieja”*
At night
I watch her free
The braided locks
And know
She dreams of running
through cane fields
The wind flirting
With her long silver hair.
(abuela - grandmother; vieja - old lady)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a nice one. The reader can see the hair of Abuela in front of their eyes. Vividly written.