“abuelita’s hands were a time card she clocked

in and out, morning and night. they were

a pile of dirty sheets at the foot of a bed,

gnarled broomsticks, dustpans, and sooty vacuums,

her hands were soiled rags in yellow gloves,

they were two pillows beaten of mites

and dead skin, her hands were paper towels

and windex on greasy mirrors.

they were many rooms each day.

her hands were a slice of wonder bread

dipped in dark coffee with sugar,

they were cinnamon sticks oozing in farina,

they were ketchup squeezed over a plate

of scrambled eggs and white rice

they were what fed and cleansed

her hands were my hands

rushing to school before work.”