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Score | 285
In Literature, Writing and Blogging • 2 min read •
My Grandmother’s house.
<p>I remember the cashew tree in front of her house,</p><p>where every morning she would pluck cashews and tell us to take off our clothes so they wouldn't get stained.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember the old bald man that would help us pluck them. There was always something around his neck, before he died.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember when the floors were still filled with sand, long before they were tiled.</p><p>I remember how my legs would be so dusty you had to wash them before climbing onto the bed.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember that tiny little box that we'd grab plastic chairs to watch, before the 42-inch replaced it.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember her house without ceilings, where I could stare at the roof from right under.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember the rough walls before they were screeded.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember the problems of that blue Tiger gen — the stress before it had to come on, and the not-so-pleasant noise while it was on.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember when the house wasn't fenced, when there were bushes everywhere. How big the gutter was. Oh, I remember.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember my grandfather listening to the radio, well before he died.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember the ludo games we played, the days my body would scratch because I spent my day rolling over bushes.</p><p><br/></p><p>I look around and remember how big the parlour was before certain things occupied it. How many spots the TV had been placed, how many balls and things got stuck in the roof, how bad NEPA treated them here.</p><p><br/></p><p>I remember how well her house has evolved.</p><p><br/></p><p>Hmm, I remember. If not all, some. What do you remember?</p>

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