Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley with her husband, son, and a big black dog. Her poetry has appeared in The Coachella Review, The Portland Review Blog, The Curator Magazine, and is forthcoming in The Tule Review, Paper Nautilus, dislocate, Right Hand Pointing, and The Mas Tequila Review.
My grandmother:
a ghost we trace in mirrors.
I used to get her voice caught
in my throat;
what she left is what we say.
Here is a legacy of eyes and
sloping fingers. This flat down-facing
mouth and my own plain
silent blood.