If you could smell the food my lela used to cook....
that little swag as she danced around the kitchen,
those boriqua hands, aged in years,
were young as love,
in that project tenement kitchen.
she used to tell us how she left puerto rico,
i'd see it in her eyes...
puerto rico was her first love,
she left her for dreams, hopes for a family in the future,
that American dream, was always lying,
because my Lela stood young for puerto rico,
and people always said she looked 10 years younger
than her actual age,
Why?
She did it up for puerto rico,
and during those cold new york winter months,
when it snowed so much that her bus was delayed,
and when she got on her bus young men
sitting shivering and numb from the blizzard of the bronx,
wouldn't even stand to offer a seat,
but she never stood in vain,
her Rican legs stood proud,
they walked an entire family into existence,
salsa floors to hospital hallways,
those young legs marched for me,
and my father, and my brother....
those young puerto rican legs
said Fuck 60, im feeling 16
and I can't stand these trees in new york city,
Im thirsting for palm trees and coco rico,
and gossip with my girls,
underneath the wise old sun on beaches white as heaven,
speaking of heaven she never sinned,
and I know that's not true,
but if a sin is something wrong, lela only did right,
and when she went to church, the wisest,
most well versed pastors knew that her humility was unbecoming,
she was too kind, she was bright,
she probably read the bible one hundred and one times,
but when the pastor talked, she listened,
and sometimes I could see the exhaustion
pulling down on her gorgeous eyes,
and I know she wanted to dose off,
and I've seen her do it, at times,
but never in Church, it seems God and Puerto Rico
had too much respect from Lela.
I want her to know that they both respect her.
And if she prays, God listens.
And when she steps off that plane into her motherland,
it gives her a big old hug and asks where she's been.
She's not dead and this isn't an obituary,
this is respect from a grandson who forgot about peurto rico
and forgot about God, but would Never, in his long
tedious life, full of vanity and sins and darkness,
forget about Lela, the woman who taught him how to be a man.
And her little anecdotes about life,
and her stories about persistence,
and passion, and sufferance.
I don't know the definition of a profit,
and I never knew Dr. King, or Gandhi,
but Lela was my saint on earth.
And I know im far in spirit, and im far in presence,
but every time I cook,
I have that little hop in my step, that little bounce,
that little swag.
Lela lives in me and she won't die for shit.
When she comes to my wedding im gonna let my wife know,
I'm gonna point to Lela, and tell my wife on the alter,
this women is your role model of a wife and a mother,
and if your even one percent the woman, and wife, and mother that she was,
you would be the second greatest woman, and wife, and mother. In the world.
Gracias.
-Foofie
that little swag as she danced around the kitchen,
those boriqua hands, aged in years,
were young as love,
in that project tenement kitchen.
she used to tell us how she left puerto rico,
i'd see it in her eyes...
puerto rico was her first love,
she left her for dreams, hopes for a family in the future,
that American dream, was always lying,
because my Lela stood young for puerto rico,
and people always said she looked 10 years younger
than her actual age,
Why?
She did it up for puerto rico,
and during those cold new york winter months,
when it snowed so much that her bus was delayed,
and when she got on her bus young men
sitting shivering and numb from the blizzard of the bronx,
wouldn't even stand to offer a seat,
but she never stood in vain,
her Rican legs stood proud,
they walked an entire family into existence,
salsa floors to hospital hallways,
those young legs marched for me,
and my father, and my brother....
those young puerto rican legs
said Fuck 60, im feeling 16
and I can't stand these trees in new york city,
Im thirsting for palm trees and coco rico,
and gossip with my girls,
underneath the wise old sun on beaches white as heaven,
speaking of heaven she never sinned,
and I know that's not true,
but if a sin is something wrong, lela only did right,
and when she went to church, the wisest,
most well versed pastors knew that her humility was unbecoming,
she was too kind, she was bright,
she probably read the bible one hundred and one times,
but when the pastor talked, she listened,
and sometimes I could see the exhaustion
pulling down on her gorgeous eyes,
and I know she wanted to dose off,
and I've seen her do it, at times,
but never in Church, it seems God and Puerto Rico
had too much respect from Lela.
I want her to know that they both respect her.
And if she prays, God listens.
And when she steps off that plane into her motherland,
it gives her a big old hug and asks where she's been.
She's not dead and this isn't an obituary,
this is respect from a grandson who forgot about peurto rico
and forgot about God, but would Never, in his long
tedious life, full of vanity and sins and darkness,
forget about Lela, the woman who taught him how to be a man.
And her little anecdotes about life,
and her stories about persistence,
and passion, and sufferance.
I don't know the definition of a profit,
and I never knew Dr. King, or Gandhi,
but Lela was my saint on earth.
And I know im far in spirit, and im far in presence,
but every time I cook,
I have that little hop in my step, that little bounce,
that little swag.
Lela lives in me and she won't die for shit.
When she comes to my wedding im gonna let my wife know,
I'm gonna point to Lela, and tell my wife on the alter,
this women is your role model of a wife and a mother,
and if your even one percent the woman, and wife, and mother that she was,
you would be the second greatest woman, and wife, and mother. In the world.
Gracias.
-Foofie
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