The house ruined by fire,
Flames so hot that the brick walls collapsed.
The surrounding countryside invaded by strangers,
Pathways paved to build busy streets.
The bridge destroyed in a hurricane,
Massive supports twisted by wind and waves.
My ancestors were wanderers, and I will never call anywhere home
Knowing shelter ephemeral and beauty brief.
I still recall the taste of fresh figs in the summer
Warm from the hot sun and sweet.
Leave a Reply