ruth

Rice porridge with brown sugar one almond on top, she watches as I take a bite then with a smile pours herself her own. Her hands are strong yet wearing, her veins azure and proud. My eyes stare back at me, a bit more hazy but full of reverence. “My two favorite ladies,” my mom speaks from her chair. Grandma winks at me and taps on my hand “Strong women come in pairs.”

ruth Tori Warkentin

Poetry 35