"My abuela's hands"

I see her hands covered in bubbles,
Scrubbing at the day’s dirty dishes 
Her wrinkled fingers and
chipped red nail polish. 

I know she’s tired,
Way before she goes to bed, 
But there’s almost no time
to rest. 
Just a sigh and her saying,
"tengo mucho que hacer."

She has lost count of the dresses she has made
And the children that she has cared for.
I have lost count of how many times
I held her hand 
Weathered hand
That I don’t want from my memory to fade.

--Yeiri F., Adult