On the field of my grandfather’s trees
Lay a stone cold stone
Where I played with twigs and pebbles
And bruised my bones
On the field of my grandfather’s trees
Laid two trees next to one another
Where i climbed one and laid upside down
And tasted the sour seeds of the other
My grandfather’s trees made a maze
And I learned the maps of their barks
Where the heat and earth prickled my feet
Until I knew her
Where my grandfathers fruit trees were
I waited by the leaves for the ripened fruit
Fingers red and black, berries masking my tastebuds
Shirts becoming bowls to carry the rest home
Barefoot an explorer in my grandfather’s field of trees
Picking at peels of bark, observing ants go on and about
Picking apart coffers of seeds, studying their shapes and colors
Imploring the sweet earth to allow me a peek
At her magical power to grow trees from seeds
By my grandfather’s field of trees
Laid my grandmother’s garden
Were we planted greens and beans
Where she toiled the brown earth and made it green
We harvested, we cooked, and we ate
We spoke in silence and we worked
© Engaisi Peter 2022. All rights reserved.
