I breathe this air,

Only memories and tradition,

Old air, old land,

Coconut trees.


Stray goats out on the road,

As coconut tree seeds hope to grow tall,

And it comforts me, for there is young black hair on the face I remember,

Standing between dusty floors and blooming expanses of rice fields.


Clothes out on the line, on the balcony, dripping wet in innocent rain.

Newborn stems thrust up, as the sun shines bright,

Imprinting my memory of a house with crumbling walls, dusty floors, 

Luscious expanses of rice fields, young coconut plants; standing forever in my memory,

As their people do too.


Long grass between an old crumbling house and harvested expanses of rice fields.

Stray goats out on the road,

Majestic coconut palms standing one hundred feet tall,

But no comfort, for there is ancient silver hair on the face I remember,

Lying between hospital beds and drought-stricken rice fields.


Forever in my memory,


Soon never in my life.