returning home

beyond the trees surrounding the house it was more light
but for me the sun in my grandma’s eyes was enough
I cut with the knife the top of the boiled egg
spinning together round that golden core
with the silver teaspoon from my father’s baptism

there were too few butterflies
for the many flowers grandma brought on the table
some of them embroidered on handkerchiefs
others on my hats
placed there with her hands soft as apricot jam
smelling like naphthalene and purple lilac
picked when the rain stopped
in the color of fairy tale books drawings

more and more pigeons flew over our heads
from the attic with windows without windowpanes
there fell shadow over shadow from imprisoned wings
from love growing
like a quarrel between seasons

as I got closer to her shoulders
taller than the mailbox from the front gate
higher than the lime tree sapling in the street
little by little I was leaving towards a stranger place
to capture the sunset in the small basket lined with tinfoil
where grandma left a few dry cakes
sprinkled with sugar

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Categories: My Poems in 2014 | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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