Remembering birthdays at the beach:
wormholes
drawing you backward
with the undertow,
your feet still in the surf,
the sand rushing between your toes
As you look up to watch
the ever-widening expanse of the past,
moving fast before you,
and you grow smaller, a boy
snorting the olfactory senses of childhood
when you still believed...
Hearing, once again, your mother call to you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
About the power of scent to draw you back... I remember being 10 and at the beach with my family, too.