my mother grows basil leaves in a pot in our kitchen
this is our home she says, skin and bones built up with love
we put basil on everything
my father is old now and has lost his sight
outside there are kites flying in the bright blue sky
he laughs and tells stories of teaching me to ride my bike
I used to play pretend, building castles in our kitchen
lighting candles of great wide flames, scent drifting
riding camels through the desert of my mom’s master bathroom
my brother made art with his chalk–hopscotch, sketches–on our sidewalk
when we heard our backyard bells chime like a ticking time clock
we’d come back inside, sit in our chairs, eat pizza with basil leaves