The Homeland

I'll never forget the warmth of my grandma's old gas stove

In the cramped two-bedroom apartment that always smelled like smoke

My grandpa would sit in his room with a cigarette in his left hand

Stroking his coarse grey beard while solving a crossword puzzle

My grandma would be shuffling around in her kapcie, house slippers

Baking and cooking and frying and banging pots and pans

Boiling strawberry jam with fresh fruits picked from her dzialka, yard

And pickling cucumbers and cabbage and mushrooms in glass jars

I'll never forget the sweet smell of nalesniki wafting from the kitchen

In my paternal grandfather's loft, up on the fifth floor

Cottage cheese crepes fried in oil, dipped in jam

It was my favourite breakfast as a kid

My grandpa's dog, Grot, would wag his tail and beg for crumbs

Then we'd go for walks to the old town 

Strolling along the cobblestoned streets of Olsztyn, my hometown

The sun warming me up on a bright summer day

I'll never forget my great-grandparents' small carpeted apartment

My great-grandma preparing a feast every time I visited

Soups, polpety - cutlets, perogies, chicken, cabbage

She would show me her newest calendar, always of the Pope

While my great-grandpa told me stories of the war

Stories that I didn't fully comprehend, not then

The air in the living room smelled heavy, like roses

And deep, musky perfume

Even though I didn't like the smell, I never wanted to leave

These are all memories that have been perhaps skewed over time

But the emotions, the snippets of remembrance are there

Of all the people who touched my life when I was a child

Of all the people who have already left the Earth

It was only via a Skype call, a phone call, a text

That I got to say goodbye