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Voices

Home is the sound of voices I have loved;
my mother’s French accent, asking me for lemons
to squeeze into a pot of boiling grape leaves,
her hands tattooed with their fragrance,

my grandmother’s strained whispers,
like the simmering garlic cloves,
my great uncle’s laughter, as wide
as a vineyard.

Voices

Home is the sound of voices I have loved;
my mother’s French accent, asking me for lemons
to squeeze into a pot of boiling grape leaves,
her hands tattooed with their fragrance,

my grandmother’s strained whispers,
like the simmering garlic cloves,
my great uncle’s laughter, as wide
as a vineyard.

Michele Gill, 61

Shoreline / Seattle

 
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