abuelita

leaning back into poetry to move things through

i clean the house vigorously

my abuelita is not doing well

104 years she has seen

and the flowers on our table are beginning to wilt

while others are just blossoming

today I race because

of what might surface if I stop

and I reach to grab something in my hair

to find a small flower

my daughter has put there

“a flower crown adorning her head” a friend writes

And my eyes water knowing the bounty of love

adorning my grandma right now

whichever way she goes

the last time I saw her

she had made the long journey to the mountains

for our wedding

carried snow in her arms

for the first time

A child’s smirk on her face

a flower crown on her head