Another One of Grandma's Stories

With closed eyes,

I imagine tons and tons of ogo

flowing on Ewa's sands,

finding their way to the plates and bellies of kids -

like my dad, uncles and aunty.

I open my eyes.

I realize these are another one

of grandma's stories.

Whatever was growing in the waters of that beach,

has been destroyed.

Sustenance pulled by its roots

by careless hands

who did not know how to take care of the land.

I cannot see

what the future holds for the sand

or for the water

or for the red dirt

of that land.

I can only pray for it

2,399 miles away.