Babinka

A poem from Anna about her grandmother Mária

You didn’t let me write the letter "A" using two stokes,

It needed to be only one.

You didn’t let me blow my recorder through my nose, 

I had to use my mouth.

You made me count ten long seconds,

Before I could swallow a mouthful of cold and sparking coke.

Now you are gone. 

I write the letter "A" using one stroke.

I blow the clarinet through my mouth.

I don’t like coke anymore.

I found you in me.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.