translated by Danae Sioziou

The old house by the sea stands, preserved by the salt, still. In its foundings the tide
flows, returns, waves waves senses of years past and not gone.
Under the light of this lamp mum used to knit, her tears burst on the floor, under the
wooden planks seas rose up. Often, sea shells, logs and little stones were washed up,
sometimes we discovered mountains of algaes under the furniture or the beds, our
father cooked them every Sunday and we ate, the whole family gathered up.
Look, grandpa used to drift up and down this ladder, till he died and nobody dared to
move it. Then, our grandma became very melancholic, spent most days in bed. Now
every Saturday she rises, takes the ancient wedding dress out of the closet, wears it
and stands by the doorstep waiting.
Better so this loam than when we had the sea on our side
better so this wind, better so