#529

(image by Jessica)

Era uma casa sem histórias na hora de dormir,

mas cheirava a alecrim

e tinha uma mãe 

que cantava na cozinha

entre os legumes

pensando em formas engenhosas

de nos fazer comê-los.

It was a house with no bedtime stories,

but it smelled like rosemary

and there was a mother 

dressed in love and an apron

singing in the kitchen

among vegetables,

trying to come up with artful plans

to make us eat them.