She slowly got up from the ragged green chair,
hobbling to the kitchen, stirring something
as it boiled and rumbled.
The aroma reminded me of my grandma’s house,
long ago, me, a curly-haired child,
being chased away lest I get burnt.
A little girl sat playing on the floor,
a home-made rag doll, much-loved, it appeared.
The lady spoke to the child in a language
where I would not ever find proficiency-
yet I knew exactly what her words were.
In every place, every time, we are all one.