Soil and Weeds

soil and weeds

When i was a child, i loved going to my Grandmother’s home.

I loved running in Her garden,

collecting bunches of flowers,

while gazing up at the acrylic painted sky

full of colors just like the ones i saw

when i gazed into Her eyes.

That love, that fire

that she radiated in Her home

the home, that was my haven from the world.

And my Grandmother,

she was just as warm as that home,

she was just as vivid as the flowers in Her garden,

and she was just as sweet as the aroma of Her cakes.

That aroma that floated around the home,

the love that gently brushed every corner and crook.

the love so deep,

it made my heart melt.

This same heart,

bursting with the memories we made.

But slowly, it was ripped away.

The gardens were left untended.

My beautiful flowers died.

The love, the fire

inside Her very eyes

started to fade out.

And when my Grandmother’s eyes were hollow

so was Her home.

The light had been drained out.

Only filled with the broken memories my Grandmother was forced to leave behind.

Then finally i saw Her again.

Two years had passed, but Her reflection displayed ten.

Years ago, Her memories had wilted as fast as the flowers in Her vast garden.

And all was left was soil and weeds.

I ran around, throwing bags of seeds,

Seeds of every different flower i knew.

Just to spark Her memory

because i believed

that somehow i could help Her remember.

Somehow,

i hoped,

that we could share the memories deep in my heart.

But i was too late.

No longer could new seeds sprout and grow,

on the land, that was cracked and cold.

And now, she has a new house.

A house where the only scent i recognize,

is the scent of the cleaning spray on Her windows.

Windows that only show me dark and cloudy skies.

This house is as bleak as the frigid soil that long ago used to bloom.

And still She doesn’t realize

that she can no longer feel fire in Her eyes.

Which breaks Her heart, just like it breaks mine.