In The Blood by Pat Mora

The brown-eyed child

and the white-haired grandfather

dance in the silent afternoon.

They snap their fingers

to a rhythm only those

who love can hear.

Teenagers by Pat Mora

 One day they disappear

into their rooms.

Doors and lips shut

and we become strangers

in our own home.

I pace the hall, hear whispers,

A code I knew but can’t remember

Mouthed by mouths I taught to speak.

Years later the door opens.

I see faces I once held,

Open as sunflowers in my hands. I see

Familiar skin now stretched on long bodies

That move past me

Glowing

Almost like pearls