Candy

Heat the candy soft 

Don't burn 

Cool the candy firm 

Not hard 

Pull the candy thin 

Don't break

My House Remembers

My house is old 

So old it remembers when miners would pan for gold 

So old the glass is wavery, like rainbows 

So old the kitchen stove glows 

Warm and cozy 

So old there are secret spaces 

So old it remembers many many faces 

My house remembers when it was little 

And it grew room by room 

My house is so old it has bricks made by hand 

And wood from giant trees from this land And metal forged by fire, shaped with hammer and hands 

My house remembers when I was born When my mother was born 

When my grandmother was born 

My house remembers 

Because there are newspapers in the walls And treasures buried underneath 

My house is so old

It used to be the only house 

My house remembers when there were no streets, very few cars, and many gardens

My house is so old 

But it remembers how to keep us warm in the winter 

And cool in the summer 

It remembers how to store food in the cellar And memories in the attic. 

Inheritance

My body held stories before I could hold a pen to shape letters 

My stomach is full of recipes salted by generations and seasoned with time 

My ears ring with whispers of songs hummed by mothers, aunts, grandparents 

I spoke the tongue of motherland memories half forgotten 

My dreams are those of revolutionaries fighting wars I do not know 

My skin and hair and eyes, the color of all that dust collected 

And in my blood and bones a multitude of strength, tempered, misremembered over time