Hem (home) a simple history

Here it is. Birch wood floors. Someone came from Chile at the end of the 60's. I can hear the faint sounds in the accent, in the words. There, sitting on the natural wool and blue couch is a woman with dark hair cut straight across. A line falls at her chin. Eva also has this haircut but her hair is white blond. She grew up on Lidingö. The first family with a swimming pool. A swimming pool so you don’t have to walk to the edge of the sandless coast and admire Poland. Constantly covered except for a few weeks in the heart of summer.

Do you hear the percussion? Jazz in Täby. This is the house I grew up in. We move left to right and then back again. Doing dishes after a glass of lite beer and some riced potatoes. No need for mental transportation tonight. I see the advent candles in everyone’s window while walking home. I concentrate on every single light – count. The snow is ice cream, the stones are chocolate chips.

Up and down the felt stairs to rooms of silence and then again. Left and then right again. Night and day are one time. Time cut by a cup of Citron tea – late afternoon, morning, the middle of the night. There is always a wanderer, a neighbor, a closer than close, who wants to hear your stories and tell theirs.

Tonight I will walk down the blocks of cracked and salted streets towards a tea date. There is no snow ice cream here. I have a dog now, she will guide the way. I will try to listen for the chimes on Pine Street on the highest apartment with French doors leading to a porch which is a kind of porthole.