You have to take trains and subways and cars and planes to get here.
My grandparents live beside a small river which, over the years, grows smaller and smaller.
There are lots of bright orange trees that speckle the quiet neighbourhood.
And cats that are afraid of everyone except the old man who painstakingly prepares meals for them out of leftover cooked fish and potatoes. When you ask him about his gatos he will tell you they’re lousy, but when he doesn’t know you’re looking he is their best friend. Que pasa Julie, que pasa Ortiz, he says quietly.
From the window of the new house you can see the old house, with rusted windows and stoney steps. Inside are hidden treasures in black and white.
And when I go, back on the trains and planes, all that’s left are my shadows.