Memory’s bells brought melodies
of Grandma’s voice.
When mud crumbled off her wall,
when wind threatened to tear her roof off
she sang with jubilation.
When raindrops fell like tears through
copper-coloured, sun-pierced metal sheets,
a silver puddle appeared above
the dung-polished floor – extinguishing all our candles.
But the ground rejoiced with the clap of her feet.
Her heart warmed the cold hut,
and filled our bellies
with thoughts of nourishment.
As patters rattled like a tambourine,
She danced with delight.
To her, the rain brought messages of life.
She was not looking for rainbows
Her mind was already harvesting.
She was thinking of the seedlings
Growing in her garden.