Well-Known Corners of the People
We are the travelers of small steps
wearing pyjamas and slippers
to greet each room as if it were a country
encountered from a plane flight,
konnichiwa to the space called Living
ola to the island called Kitchen
nin hao to the mattress of pent up dreams,
in the study there is the desk
holding geography’s memory,
salve, kalimera, take me with you.
My mother will be lighting her candles
on her bench-top to create her church,
my father will shuffle with his frame
to the chair on the porch with the vista
of his twelve year-old eyes diving
for sea sponges from an unsteady pier.
This space termed Home
is a document of journey
as we come to know the walls as trees
we long to climb,
the doors to close or open
depending on altitude and inclement,
the ceiling will seem higher than Everest,
from the carpet we see the grit
of hiking through jungle.
And there, in the lonely corner
is the blue rug to sit on and breathe in
the smell of the ocean calling its waves
to sweep our dust.