DITED BY PAT MORA i} ATED BY PAULA S.BARRAGAN M.For my mother, Estela Delgado Mora, in memory of my grandmother, Amelia Landavazo Delgado, ‘and my aunt, Ignacia Delgado: and forall who mother us—BM, For Matias and Bruno—PS.B.M. Tet copytight © 2001 by india poet hsrations copyright © 2001 by Pals §. Barge M, Coleco copeght © 2001 by lee Low Boks A sgs reseed No pt ofthe contents of ths book may be reproduced by any means without the ween permission of the publisher lee & Lom Books ne, 95 Madson Avene NewYork, NY 0016 leeandaec ‘ok Maductin by The Kids at Our Howse ‘The ilstaons are rendered in enc ct pape and gouache and then scanned int a computer and farther designed with Adobe stat ‘Manufactured in China by South Chin rang Ca, Octber 2009 (ey 9 87 654 ist on brary of congress Cataloging n-Publcaton Data lve o mama bute to mothers eed by Fat Mora ‘strated by Pal arapin M.— ated 1SBN-15 9781581500189 (handover) ISBN-15: 978-158830-235-3 (paperback) 5. Che’ poet, Amerian-—Hisanie American author. (. Mothers 4 American poety—Colkeiann.| I Mora at I Baran Maula SLIntroduction WWhren twas a litte girl in £1 Paso, Texas, Mom cooked our meals, was president of the PTA, and helped Dad at his optical company. She was busy, but she loved to read and taught us to love books, too. Mom always helped my sisters, my brother, and me with homework. In English or Spanish, Mom could make words flow or fly and not go clunk, clunk, clunk. Mom also had a great sense of humor. Even when we worked hard together, we laughed and joked and had a good time. My aunt, Ignacia Delgado, and my grandmother, Mamande, mothered us too. ‘My tfa read us books and told us stories in English and Spanish when we were in bed at night. I feel lucky that I grew up in a bilingual home. Mamande spoke only Spanish, so I leamed the sweetness of the language from her. She brought us bowls of warm tomato soup to enjoy in bed when we were sick. Her soft hands always made us feel safe. Mothers, grandmothers, and special people do that, don't they? Poems, like music, carry us to the deep fi ings we hide inside. All the talented Latino poets in this book wrote to share their love for their mothers and grandmothers. The poets live in ies all over the country. Some have published many books before and others are new voices. All are proud to be Latino writers. We hope you'll enjoy the beautiful illustrations by Paula Barragén and that you'll read and share these poems with people you love. Float on the music. —PAT MORAPalomita Wearing a sky-blue skirt embroidered by an old woman named Consuelo from a story she told Mami a long time ago on her island, a cuento in gold, brown, and silver threads, ‘a shower of sunlight falling like drops of gold on alittle golden git! who tums into a silver dove and flies around and around a blue sky, my mami is walking with me in the park. Palomita, palomita, is the name she calls me, her little dove happy to be going anywhere with her, flying like a bird around and around ‘my mami in her sky-blue skirt made from an island story. JUDITH ORTIZ COFERShe rode a horse named Fina when women didn’t ride, They galloped around the mountain, her legs on Fina’s side. She let her hair down from its bun and felt it whip and fly, She laughed and sang and whooped out loud. Up there she wasn't shy! One day great-grandma found her out and planned to stop it all But down in town they'd heard some news they told her of a call, A call for the caballeros from all the highs and lows to race their fancy caballos to try and win the rose. Abuela looked at Fina, a twinkle in her eye. Abuela said, “Let’s enter! This race deserves a try.” ‘At dawn she was the only girl, but didn't even care, She came to meet the challenge, and her horse was waiting there. They swept across the finish line ‘much faster than She flung her hat without surprise; she'd always done her best. he rest. Fina shook her mane and stomped. Abuela flashed a smile. She sniffed the rose and trotted off in caballera stylet JENNIFER TRUJILLOLas abuelitas When our grandmothers in Spanish, like sweet aramelo. They bring us 1m their childhoods shake them to the beat of salsa music Las abuelitas cup their hands cars like those dark gourds, th a little whisper f our abuelitas’ lives in Cuba.