Grandma.

008When I was young, I remember my grandma holding  my hands in hers, these wrinkly fold of soft skin that traced the contours of my palms and squeezed my little finger. She’d take me swimming at the pool, and afterwards she’d scrub my tiny back hard, and late when I’d lick the strawberry ice cream we bought at the market, I’d radiate a soft pink glow. In this portrait, I embodied my grandma, someone I haven’t seen in seven years, and I hope that I’ve embodied the warmth in her smile and the spunk in her laugh.

 

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