Grandma Lou

My Grandmother loves to reminisce -

loves recollecting sepia photos

of baby fingers and baby toes

that grasp to hold and touch and feel

Synapses releasing neurotransmitters -

sending messages from one neuron to another -

information overload -

overwhelming nerve endings

unaccustomed to feeling so much sensation

Have you ever watched a baby discover the world?

They cry at the smallest things -

the sour taste of lemon, the sound of a barking dog

When I just started making noise,

only months after being born

my Brother says I spoke a strange kind of gibberish

My Grandmother told him I was speaking God’s language;

she told him that’s how all babies speak

Half caveman, half angel -

a jumble of lips and tongue and vocal chords still learning how to move together

Some kind of divine revelation

we are unequipped to decipher

My Grandmother,

well versed in God-speak,

spent years decoding secret messages,

finding hidden meaning within ancient parables

She keeps a plastic, glow in the dark rosary 

on her hospital bedside table

next to a prayer book with an illustration of Jesus on the cover

Jesus is a white boy with shoulder length dirty blonde hair

His icy blue-eyed glare always scared me as a child,

staring from the top of every doorway in my Grandmother’s house

I think I was afraid of what would happen

if I didn’t believe in him

(and I know she would be disappointed to hear this)

But sometimes,

I don’t know if I believe in Him

I don’t know if I believe in cathedrals or thorny crowns

After years of education, I’ve since found out

the illustration is only a myth -

a western European fantasy

dreamt by powerful men who love to picture themselves divine

Now I don’t know who Jesus is to other people,

but to me, he is my Grandma Lou

Penguin walk and pillow stomach and plumeria embrace

Crooked smile and arthritis hands and eyes that crinkle at the corners

when she laughs

And every time I taste my Grandmother’s homemade Filipino food,

I think this must be the language of God -

lumpia crispy fried on the outside with a soft savory middle

pancit served on a warm ornate plate, a dance of textures and flavor

chicken adobo so tender and juicy, it melts in your mouth

When they make the mistake of putting adobo on the hospital lunch menu,

Mrs. Young who lies on the other side of the curtain divider asks,

Is this what adobo is supposed to taste like?

because it tastes like some white people cooked it

Grandma Lou -

You make home out of garlic and spice

You make home out of frozen turkey bones and leftover rice

When I pray,

it’s your voice I hear

singing loudly and off-key and out of tune

Half song, half angel -

a jumble of lips and tongue and vocal chords still learning how to move together

Some kind of divine revelation

We are unequipped to decipher

Have you ever watched a baby discover the world?

They laugh at the smallest things -

A face peeking boo between door swinging hands

Every moment charged with wonder

Every second filled with awe

My Grandmother knows

this life is stain glass precious,

so easily combustible,

you just have to appreciate the flames

The first time my Grandmother went through chemo,

she cried when she lost her hair

But when I saw her months after,

it had just started growing back

She took my hand, placed it on her head,

and said, feel how soft it is, almost like a newborn’s hair

And in that moment,

the nerve endings in my fingertips send a message to my brain

that the hairs are so fine, they feel like flyaways,

and my eyes meet my Grandmother’s gaze,

and we watch each other discover the world