The skies break apart
Diamonds and gems fall from the sky
A pot of gold warms her heart
My mother held me for the first time

Sunday afternoon came and passed by in my granny’s kitchen
Seven colours served my eyes every Sunday night
In her old hut she watched and smiled as we are
Our hearts filled with joy and stomachs echoed love

I’d die of laughter and resurrect to laugh once more
She’d keep on about how my mother used to fear her own shadow in her toddler years
Her stories filled out imagination with playful images

Around a small warm fire
Hidden from the unjust world under her wing
We sucked life from her
At least home felt warm then