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Guest Column: Nana’s Hands by Davina Araiza

Davina in front of a crowd, wearing a costume of red and white and looking to the left, while holding a broom she will use to ceremonially sweep the street in front of the Urn.

I miss my Nana Virgie. I cried for her the other day. Yelling to the sky that I still need her. I missed her so much I went by her home. The one where she taught me to roll tortillas. Where she taught me, with her beautiful, long nailed, lined with use hands—sewing and the…


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