I'm smiling as I write this.
Not because I'm happy,
If anything, I am quite sad.
My mom is sick,
the bank is taking away our house
and we are left broke
as my father works two jobs at the age of seventy-
his rough and withered hands
grasping tight to my mother's
soft and shaking fingers.
He holds so tightly
and looks into her warm blue eyes
as if to say, "it's okay" with the dance of every eyelash
and my mom's cheeks get rosy red
like a teenage girl after her first kiss
and there I am,
sitting in the background watching,
learning from this sweet escapade of love,
hoping that one day I have something similar-
the notion that love conquers all.
and a smile sits on my stupid face
knowing that we'll be okay.