Home Poem by Alejandra Guerra

There is a trace of Bergamot
coming from the kitchen
It smells like earl grey tea
it's bittersweet
They painted the cabinets red
and it doesn't feel like home
around here anymore
I've been stitching fragments of old frames
back together again
there are empty spaces where the pictures used to be
When it is dark and everyone is asleep
I savor traces of Bergamot
and keep them under my skin

I remember how things used to be;
when they never asked me questions,
when I didn't bury secrets
beneath the grass
where no one would ever find them
Your fingertips remind me of the air
when it is brisk and sometimes
I feel it when I'm sitting on the back porch
savoring traces of Bergamot
that smell like earl grey tea
that I bury under my skin
and when the sky is lonely
it feels like home