Her

Her Feet

Feet thathave carried her throughout the island she calls home

Feet that led her onto a ship towards the unkown

Her Womb

A makeshift palace bearing the seven children she would give birth to over the course of her life

The same ones she would walk miles for

Stand at the bus stop for on her way to her two jobs

Her Hands

Her most prized posessions.

Hands that would wipe the tearts from her children's eyes

Would through picture frames in frustration

Hands that would wipe her own tears in secret

Her Heart

The first thing ANYONE notices about her

A warriors heart that is- you know, the kind that has been deeply scarred and bruised but still finds reason to beat

The kind of heart that beats faster with excitement each time she sees her grandchildren as if she is meeting them all over again

A catalyst for giving selflessly and without expecting anything in return

Her- my grandmother