from Trevor’s Encyclopedia of lost and found things
There were deep wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and across her forehead.
They didn't seem to be wrinkles of worry that he'd seen form on his mamí’s and papí’s faces as they worked the fields and lived among strangers in small Southern towns.
No, they seemed to be wrinkles of kindness that might have come from years and years of loving and hoping,
the kind of wrinkles you get when you cradle a baby in your arms and rock it deep into the night,
the kind that come when you study the small, quiet things in the world
and wonder why so few people
see or hear their beauty.
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