My grandmother’s backyard
I thought everyone had the same
With the vines going up to give shade to the plastic table
With the smallest patch of lawn to play soccer on
The pear tree, fruits never ripe when I came
And that apricot tree oozing resin, sticky fingers
At the end of it, as it streched narrowly between two houses
A garage of sorts. Things were crammed there taking the dust.
The passage of time was such,
that I actually believed it to be part of the garden.
Unused furniture and bike parts, memories unattainable.
This was already going back to its primal state.
I want to visit it once more
I want to ask my grandmother about life before the garden. When there was
No memories unattainable.