ambedo
the pillowy loaf in my hands, and the faint laughter from the porch. the lake stretches for what seems like miles. i stumble through the crunchy, wet grass and crawl up to the rough tile seats. ducks quack beneath my hovering feet. a gentle, calloused hand on my back. the smells of yeast, dew, and post-rain sweetness absorb my senses as my abuelo breaks the white bread.
under the soft sunshine and the sounds of soft chatter from my relatives, i am looked in the eye and told, in spanish, to be gentle with the animals around me. squirming in my seat. reaching out my hands. satisfied honking and flaps of wings. i move closer to my abuelo and ramble some long-winded story I can’t seem to recall. his musky cologne he always wore fills my nose. his face lights up as he chuckles, and i giggle back.
