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
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
She built our house
to live by the lake.