Mothers day poem

For My Quechua Mother-in-Law,
Luisa Carhuapoma Campos Sabuco

(I wrote this years ago, when our boys were very young, in honor of Francisco’s mother, whom I never met. I want to wish a Happy Mother’s Day, Feliz Dia de la Madre, to her daughters, Epifania, Julia, and Maria, who have become my Peruvian sisters.)

Grandmother to my sons,
their abuelita,
I do not know you.

You live in a world
where hunger clings with curled fingers,
to the chests of babies,
where a mother gnaws the chicken bones
of her neighbor’s garbage 
and dies.

You live in a world
where old women with thin fingers
weave llama wool
into grass and rain and stars,
where young men with fiery eyes
touch the razor edge of night.

I come to you with bare feet and a flower.

Your son brings us together.
With one arm, he reaches
to your Inca fathers;
with the other, he lifts
a child.

Grandmother to my sons,
their abuelita,
I want to know you.
I bring you a small flower.

Mamita, Mamacita,
I bring to you
our sons.
​
   --Glennys Sabuco

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