I try to greet their faces first. Notice all they hold in their skin, the stress in their foreheads,
the panic in their lips, discomfort in their eyes. So many words
resting in the corners of their mouths, silent conversations exploding
in the wrinkle of their noses, heated arguments in their widening eyes.
I know each matriarch’s brow is tight from all the plates spinning
on the axis of her spine. A whole village needing her attention
and expecting her to wear the weight of generations with a smile.