Forgotten Tongue

Far away dreams that slipped worn hands,
from island shores to busy lands.
The Bronx was loud, the nights were long,
she worked and prayed to keep them strong.

The bills piled high as time ran thin,
she tucked her quiet guilt within.
“No time for games,” she used to say,
while Spanish words just slipped away.

Her babies grew with english grace,
no hint of home upon their face.
No “cuentos” told, no songs they knew,
platano trees or skies so blue.

Now grown, they ask, “What did she say?”
when “mama” speaks from far away.
She smiles, then sighs, a hidden ache,
a choice she’d change, if time was fake.

“I gave you food, a place to live,
but language too, I meant to give.”
She wipes regrets, begins again,
teaching soft words like “pan” and “bien”.

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy