Under Her Feet, I See Water


Leave all of your gems.

I will put them

to my lips and taste

visions of your past.


I savor your memories

and keep your

name within, safe from 

 being forgotten.


I sit by the lake to

breathe in her words,

broken by mournful waves.


We’ll see again,

the weight of sand

beneath our feet.


“Nothing to fear underwater, there’s

only the sound of your voice.”


Between two oak trees,

I see my grandmother standing

with a barrel of wheat in her hands.


I hold bouquets of wild flowers.

She laughs as I lay a bundle at her feet.


“These are pretty weeds.”


She taught us the difference between

lake and sea, and the color of salt.


At night, we wore crowns of lily pads

and ate sunnies from the still water.


I was told never to stop listening in fear

of forgetting the call of geese in

morning flight.


She built our house

to live by the lake.