family, faraway


December 2012


style over style, layer upon layer, these houses seem to feed on time

stones and bricks and wooden beams and boards

clad with tiles and bound with knots of iron

shelter students and old men and women, and in some cases little boys and girls

doors are heavy, frames are thick

beside the weight of puritan simplicity, always a delicate gesture, to compensate

huge windows reveal daily life behind a blooming orchid, a toy, or a veil

pure filigree


against this immensely dense curtain, always open, like a hand

against this thick, thick felt that struggles to stoically absorb the effort of generations

a minor story, of strangers

fifty years ago, two young newlyweds lived in one of these houses

that now home their son, who slowly turns old, himself

while fate constructs itself slowly, sometimes hard, sometimes soft

like these buildings

planted like seeds in the shared memories of a family, faraway

Jorge Mejia Hernandez