Bonita’s Song

Mine. Have a read đŸ™‚

The Community Storyboard

She called me her little Puerto Rican.

I was too young to remember, she said.

Not until I was an adult,

and she lay on her bed, her white hair spread like a fan on the pillow,

her wrinkled, spotted hands folded on her chest,

her opaque eyes fixed on the bluebird outside her window.

But I remembered me then

Dark chocolate hair

Black eyes

Skin that colored dark tea in the summer sun

Not at all like her

Cornsilk hair

Emerald eyes

Skin so fair that the sun burned it out of jealousy

She called me her little Puerto Rican.

A few had migrated to our part of the state, up from the City.

They were not like us whose arms were sun-stroked brown and shoulders marble white.

They were brown all over, a brown that suggested earth and warmth and something sweet.

There was one that…

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About 1WriteWay

Writer, blogger, knitter, and cat lover.
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