Yia Yia's Mercies

Yia Yia's Mercies

the house so full and yet so neat
she sits as always before the tv
with the ceremonial hug
I receive the smells of her
the old woman smell, the kind that breeds anxiety
but also a perfume, albeit too much
she reads to us the news
the daily stories, headlines, and obituaries
her favorite part,
as if it makes her one step up

then she rises and says it's time

we make our way to the kitchen,
and the smell is more pleasant here
fresh greens, salty feta cheese
we sit around the large table
and she begins the lesson
making a pita is almost therapeutic
she is able to let this time and space go
and journey back

back to the beginning

then she is young and happy
not reading obituaries or speaking of the evil eye
just simply living
those are her little mercies
the moments in which she is given relief
from age and pain
from fear and hate

we are not merely making a pita
but saving grace