in the waves of any river i search for you,
on tennis courts and the old bricks of those crippled houses,
in the harmonies ancient trees make when they meet in the wind,
in the souvenirs of your crinkled hands, working their magic peeling tomatos off their branches,
i discuss you fondly, i see you vividly,
mother of my mother,
like an old love,
a decayed photograph of childhood and
loud kisses on my cheeks.

as i grow and search for a home,
the only one i wish to hold kindly in my arms is
the house of memories built upon your shoulders,
i used to be scared of its ghosts before i learnt about
the passage of time and,
the love it leaves behind.

all the faces full of paint, nailed to the walls,
the abstract shapes of your most prized possessions,
copies with the wrong colours, the lines so thin i thought they would disappear if i looked tightly enough,
unearthed mysteries for the child  i still was.

you were the first to make me breathe out life.
you gave me all the poetry i hold inside.