Gramma moved here back in ‘72
Drove a two day whirlwind only stopping for gas
Guess she was
Sick and tired
Of being sick and tired
Ol’ Henry wasn’t just old
He was mean, too
And enough was enough
Must have been a special kinda’ mean though
Because Granby, Connecticut
To Nogales, Arizona
With three kids in tow
Ain’t just a move
That’s an escape
Short of ‘next stop, Mexico’

Gotta’ give Gramma credit though
She was resourceful
A survivor
Managed to swing a job at a little diner
Not far from the border
It was all men in the kitchen down here
She wasn’t used to that
And there wasn’t much call for
Clam chowder
Turkey pot pies
Or a tuna melt
Instead, it was
Gorditas
Pozole
And Poc Chuc

So she waited tables, saved her pennies
And got us through
We grew happy
While memories of broken bottles
Black eyes and midnight runs
Withered into the ether
Like the dark smog
Drifting out of those endless rows of trucks
Streaming into Arizona
Carrying their wares
Year after year
We watched them disappear into the horizon
We wondered where it was they were headed
And all the while, Gramma soon became
Our abuelita

Ezy Reading is out every month.