The Tune She Hums

(ooh) Slow gold light on the kitchen floor

Rosa's got her hands in the earth again, tomatoes leaning over the fence. She fills the neighbors' baskets to the brim, and never asks for a cent.

The kettle sighs, the window's wide, and something old drifts through

That tune she hums, no words at all, soft as flour on a table. I'd know it anywhere I go, Rosa, you're the sound of home.

Sunday takes the whole long afternoon, the oven keeps its patient time. We drift in early just to steal a taste, and stay till the plates are shined.

Beans on the stove, mint in a jar, your whole street knows your name. If love's a thing you plant and tend, then you grew all of us the same.

That tune you hum, no words at all, steady as the season turning. I hum it now in my own small rooms, Rosa, you're still with me.

(ooh) Same old tune, same warm door (ooh) Rosa