Taos, New Mexico, USA
After we left the island for the big city, Mother and Father refused to talk about the past. Yet, there was a sense, Mother, you longed for the homeland. On market days, you often came home with a bag of figs. When done with housework, you'd sit on the porch peeling the violet-tinged fruit, then gaze into the melting shadows as if countless trees were bearing plump little globes. Cradling the bowl you'd whisper, sýko, sýko.
in my hand
Author's Note: Sýko means fig in Greek.