Nanny and Rita

Nanny was beautiful.
Her clean fresh dress fit a slender frame.
Her shiny hair was slicked back
into a small low bun.
It smelled like the innocence of baby oil.

She maneuvered the hot iron across our starched clothes and intermittently shook
the water filled Coke bottle.
Its’ sprinkles sparkled like perspiration on Nanny’s honey colored face.

I loved to watch her graceful hands
spread out laundered sheets on my bed.
Her left hand held a single piece of jewelry, a glistening small diamond her husband had given her. A keepsake to pass down to her only daughter. Her precious little daughter, Rita who
I adored.

Rita’s hair was lovingly braided into
pigtails. Her delicate features
imitated her mother’s glow.

Sometimes the memories and the missing overwhelm me.

I didn’t go to Rita’s funeral.
Mama went.
I was numb and afraid of the crying.
So I held a comic book to cover my eyes
and grieved for a lifetime.