Kaylee Joge

My hands no longer fit around my mother's finger

As she used to slowly trace the dip of my nose

My feet have outgrown my old chuck taylors

They've ripped at the seams and the color has begun to go

Mi abuela ages year by year in Puerto Rico

Y la comida que me ha hecho

Vive siempre en mi mente y en mi corazón

Un diá, me lo voy a comer para el último tiempo

I am not the same person as i was

I am not a person to have had a seat at the table

But I've always tended to speak my mind on paper

I have etched my soul into these words

In hopes I may be able to leave something behind of me

Tethering my soul to this Earth

When I am gone and fulfilled

It will be because my words will have reached far and wide

And reached the hearts of many

Then I could never die

My soul will have a reservation for home

In my mother's arms with her finger over the dip of my nose

My feet snugged tight in my old chuck taylors

En la vivienda con mi abuela

And my hand with a pen on paper

There,

How could I ever not belong?