The secret flowers of Fountain grass whispered. As a dog sat for chicken bones and as two lovers shared one Cornetto under a very distracting skyline when the ocean met the sky. When I met you. Watching a ship, full of lights. All set for Christmas. There’s another, and another. They unmove.
Someone in my family changed homes three times before they got their girls married. How did you leave the roads, yellow doors, the neighbors afternoons I wanted to ask them. What about the tiny mud houses you built behind your cowshed. Mud coffee you made with your kettles. How you lay your pink and yellow kitchen toy set in the terrace I wish I had one of that kind too. You were lucky. You were in friends with that town, its friendly people. I wouldn’t have approved of it, although the least I could do was cry. What I best did when my father changed homes. But we came back. The joy was sheer to be back home that waited for us in the years that passed. Untouched. With Julie on the steps, just the way it had been when we left. There was no better place than this home of mine to have supper every night. I could just not wait. On the alley, every home far across I thought was ours and the lights, I thought were from our neighbors still awake waiting for our return. I was only six years old.
floatingglitters 