How do I honor
The dark eyes staring
back in the mirror?
She gave me those eyes
Painted the shade with the blood
Of her ancestors
Yet her story fades
like tear stained words lifted
from the page.

She was considered curious
for her unconventional ways
Eccentric and unusual
Her puzzle piece didn’t seem to fit
As she carried her culture silently
In her heart.

My grandmother’s grandmother,
All I know of her are stories

Echoes of fond memories faded into the background,
And the deep pools of dark eyes
Staring back at me
In the mirror.

Mandy Austin Cook