Joan was cool;
she was just young enough to
still relate, still have enough
spark to indulge in childness,
but responsible and rock solid.
Her car, the tank she called it
and old boat of a buick
that swung wide when she
spun the pizza sized steering wheel.
—//—
Her name was Adrianna
but we called her Ahh-dee,
That was her name and she helped raise me.
She had dark skin, and she spoke only español.
I’d be in restaurants,
years later—
before it shriveled from disuse—
Translating to my parents the conversations
behind us. But she is a mystery.
My Dad tells me that
everything she touched
was made neater, more beautiful.
She said she had to
leave, that I was growing quickly and
needed more
Needed English