Portrait of My Mother, Circa 2001
“Overview of Oval Shell Stone” (c. 1719–1769), Giuseppe Grisoni. The Leonora Hall Gurley Memorial Collection. Courtesy of The Art Institute of Chicago.
Lost in the leaves’ swing, I am trying to shake off their green, buttermilk yellow.
The refrigerator hums and drums like a whining giant.
This house song draws me to her, captured, hanging from a California magnet.
Obsidian hair covers her shoulders, melts into her blouse.
I obsess over this pearl resting in the oyster’s mouth—pacific and sleek.
The camera caught her eyes fresh out of water—glossy abalone.
With an oil-brushed smile, she has mastered permanence.
I want to jump right in and find her hands clasped neatly on her knees,
unfold them flat, cold on my cheeks.
I want to kiss the mole under her right thumbnail,
ask her if she wants to put me back in her belly
as I have grown up
too afraid.
On the back is her name scribbled in stale Sharpie ink.
I see now how only I can translate her beauty to you.
Mother, I will do it like it is tradition.
Kiana Perez Granados
Publab Fellow 2024
Kiana Perez-Granados is a recent graduate of UCSB, earning two bachelors degrees in English and Black studies. Her engagement with her university’s literary magazine was the catalyst for her newfound interest in publishing. She hopes to gain more experience through internships and begin an MFA in 2025.