Wednesday, April 2, 2014

from "measuring exile"

what broke your heart?
immigration.
how?
it reminded me of loss.
what did you lose?
something that won't leave my tongue.
who fed you this food?
the sun in the mountains.
what was the sun?
what rose me.
what rose you?
light.


tell me the truth.

where did you come from? 
does your body remember the seasons from that place? 
does your throat remember swallows? 
does your neck remember the sky? 
the first time you noticed the clouds moving? 
when you learned the earth was turning? 
when you learned dirt was alive?


where did you come from?

i came from a house detached from my walls/ came from a dream i had stood in between the door that severed the kitchen from the balcony/ i came from drinking the wind outside eating the ghosts inside/ came from my grandfather's closets/ came from my grandmother's absence/ came from my aunts' missing parts.


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