Mamen: The Mediterranean and grief
a shortish poem about family and grief in the shores of the mediterranean sea
My aunt, all black hair and shining eyes,
died some years ago now.
Whenever I think of her,
I can hear the waves crash ashore,
I can smell the oranges in her backyard.
I feel her fingers braiding my hair
gently, always so gently.
It’s strange how grief feels so heavy,
Yet each passing day is easier to breathe.
I curse my mind for letting me forget
the sea, the oranges, her gentle finger in my hair.
She was there holding me, teaching me what life could be,
closed my eyes and she was forever erased from this world.
But then the next summer the sea was still there,
the oranges still grew in her backyard
and different hands braided my hair.
I cannot hold memories, for they are like grains of sand,
ever flowing away sometimes nearing back,
yet I always repeat myself what she always said to me
“Precious things always come in small bottles”
A small but great woman who taught me kindness,
tenderness and the power within it.
Gentle hands that tucked me in on long summer nights.
I’ll remember you in every book I read, every orange I take,
in the vastness of the ocean
and the glowing stars in the clear summer sky.
And with the passing of time,
I know even though I may forget some of you,
I will always love you.
For where sorrow once was, a heart grows.
Forever thankful for your teachings,
forever sadness in my words of goodbye.
