Collector by Andrea Blancas Beltran

something I wrote is now lost. it was meant to accompany this photo. something about my grandma. fake pockets in a red coat. something she said about my grandfather’s death. blue balloons & how she’s become such a visual person as she grows into her disease. how I wonder in the wander of her face. the song “yellow balloon” by the band yellow balloon that I can’t recall hearing as a child, It’s raining, it’s pouring / but I don’t care no more / it’s like a yellow balloon / on a rainy afternoon… something about this yellow stool in my grandparents’ garage & my not noticing it until that day after hearing that song & realizing all the connections & missed connections. flashback: a catalog & stools & desks & my grandpa as collector. something about forgetting, losing

Andrea Blancas Beltran is from El Paso, Texas. Her work has recently been selected for publication in About Place Journal,  A Dozen Nothing, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Fog Machine, Gramma, Entropy, RHINO Poetry, Pilgrimage, and others. She likes to make postcards. You can find her @drebelle.

Photo by Annie Spratt