The shadow of a roof on a wall with chipping paint
one house has a chimney and the other has a tree behind it
washing hangs on a clothesline
seen in a mirror of a home where no one lives
a creeper grows flowers
smooching from one balcony to a terrace in the shade
Sometimes, buying marmalade can be a big step. It could mark the settling down in a space, the waking up to a familiarity, claiming a spot in a refrigerator that wasn’t yours yesterday. I think there is something romantic in walking around the kitchen, eating toast without a plate, and spreading your arms on the sofa, like you belong here.
It might be how you start making a new life.
I remember those places I visited as a child through words I do not know. I miss my first home in the flowers that I never learnt to name. Those white petals that had bright orange stems, resembled jasmines, were strewn about the road. I know the way they smelt, and I know how they left wet patches on the soil when crushed by our car tires leaving.
My dear bird,
I have built us a home
With wood, dry leaves and marbles
Windows that look out to the sea,
And a backyard laced by mountains
There is minty tea, a warm fireplace,
For your tired feet my ottoman waits.
When the future weighs you down, dove,
When past ghosts your mind, come,
I built this warm cottage
On a timeless soil,
My dear bird,