I am from the mountains
Ethereal and grand.
From the snow capped and silent
To the rushing rivers kissing soft, warm soil
Where leeches wait patiently.
I am from the dancing colours
The silver bells, the fragrant cloths and
Stained hands of red kumkum and golden turmeric.
...
I am from the rolling meadows
Emerald green- viridescent
Spiders, butterflies and grazing deer.
A squashed frog under a tractor’s tire.
From blueberry lips to strawberry fingers
I am from log burning kitchens
And words whose only understanding
Materialized in the form of steaming food:
Schnitzel, strudel and sauerkraut.
...
I am from the lemon house
With the green shuttered windows and
Blue tiled floors that never seem to warm in winter.
I am from the bubbling river who
Bathed me in the summers heat
And bit my toes when the ice broke
Beneath my second hand boots.
I am from bitter coffee and hand tossed
Dough awaiting the blaze of fire.
...
I am from the small home on a hill
Whose paintings carry memories
And whose oil seems always fresh
To my nostalgic touch.
I am from the tea leaves who dance all day long
In a burnished pot on an old stove
In a place seemingly too small but
Always made to fit.
-tangerine thoughts
