She will leave her girlish laughter behind
She cannot take the air with her
She will not hide her tears but how will she laugh again?
The smell of ripe guava trees will be forever etched upon her mind
The sound of the morning rooster will ring in her head
They will never understand the grief of leaving her old wooden house behind
The warmth of the kitchen in the cold mornings
Against the cold cement and red marble floor will remain in her heart
When the nights get cold in the city and the longing begins
She will hold these memories close
Like she does her handmade quilt blanket against her body