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
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