9
The memory of home is ultimately a construct of the mind*—
I read these lines aloud and trail my hand along the windowsill.
My fingers gather dust, the scent of citrus oil, the fine-
sieved memories of home I have constructed in my mind—
Yellowed paper on which a faded visage floats, still kind:
I make up stories for the ones I’ll never know, distill
a memory of home that’s ultimately a construct of the mind—
I read these lines aloud and trail my hand along the windowsill.
*after Tina Chang
In response to Via Negativa: Sad Money.