<font size=3>
I did not come [[home]] for several [[years]].
Upon my return, my [[mother]] does not greet me.
“Is my room still the same?” I ask her.
My mother sighs and walks [[away]].
I am twenty-five years old, but my room is eighteen.<font size=3>
We have always lived in apartments.
On the left, the small kitchen is full of dirty dishes.
Something smells good. Garlic and lemongrass.
Freshly washed [[cilantro]].
Maybe there is something in the oven.
Maybe there was a [[feast]] yesterday.
My father loves to cook.
Once, he bought horse meat, but the results were
inconclusive.
<font size=3>
My father used to say, we must protect our home.
The spell he taped above the front [[door]] is still there,
but it could not stop my nightmares,
and now I fall asleep during the day
and I wake up at night
just to sit at my [[desk]].<font size=3>
My favorite books growing up
were fairy tales and detective stories.
They always sat on my desk,
always within reach, but also:
-a bottle of [[water]]
-love letters from Finland
-a Tori Amos mixtape
-emeralds (they are not real)
-the moon
-the moon
-the [[moon]]<font size=3>
When I am sad I look for [[Orion]]
and his hunting dogs.<font size=3>
All these years away and all I have
is a bag of clothes and a box of books.
My bedroom has not changed.
The Baudelaire quote scribbled on the wall
The peach-scented creams and concoctions
The old radio clock that could only pick up
One station from Vermont.
[[Home]] is a museum.
<font size=3>
The bathroom has been repainted
the wrong [[shade]] of [[green]].
Hallucinogenic slime Ninja Turtle
will change you into a fighting animal.
In the water
my thighs are two brown seals
throwing themselves
against the white bluffs of the tub.
<font size=3>
Raw larb
is raw flesh and boiled tripe
doused in bile
made fragrant with herbs and lime.
The first time I had sushi I thought
How delicate
It had none of the sour bitter blood of home
Nothing to run away from.
The ingredients are:
7.5 oz filet mignon
1/2 cup tripe
2 tbsp fish sauce
2 tbsp padaek
1/2 tsp beef bile
1/2 tsp msg
2 tbsp toasted rice powder
1 tsp dried pepper
8 lime leaves, minced
1 tbsp galangal, minced
1 tbsp lime juice
1/4 cup shallot, chopped
1/2 cup green onion, chopped
1/2 cup [[cilantro]], roughly chopped
1/2 cup mint, roughly chopped
The instructions are:
Roughly chop the beef and then the tripe and place it in a large bowl.
Add the fish sauce, padaek, beef bile, msg, and mix.
Add the toasted sticky rice powder, lime leaves, galangal, lime juice, and mix.
Add the shallots, [[green]] onion, cilantro, mint, and gently mix.
Adjust with more fish sauce as needed and eat it with fresh sticky rice.
<font size=3>
I often think of the Fates when I think of my mother.
The seamstress
alone in her sewing room.
As long as the machine rumbled
as long as the [[floor]] shook
we had food on the table.
I know how much it costs to make your [[coat]].<font size=3>
My cousins lived on the upper and lower floors of the building
and up until I left
it was a chaos of children
a flurry of small [[escapes]]
from authority,
something we learned from [[refugee]] parents
and something-something about communism and death.
Still, sharing is caring
as long it's not French fries.
I keep all my French fries.<font size=3>
We had a small garden on our balcony
and eventually my [[mother]] took over
the small spots of green around the parking lot.
In the spring
tender sprigs of cilantro flutter
in the shade of holy basil.
She did not care for flowers
unless that flower bloomed into [[fruit]]
and still she did not eat apples
peaches or strawberries.<font size=3>
One year there was an ice storm
and our town lost power for two weeks.
I walked to the convenience store to buy [[matches]]
but they would not sell them to me
because I was underage and maybe
I was going to light a cigarette.
(I never thought of smoking before but here
was not a bad idea, it was a stressful time)
I walked back [[home]] empty-headed
praying to not be felled by ice
falling
from the power lines.<font size=3>
All these years away and all I have
is a bag of clothes and a box of books.
My bedroom has not changed.
The Baudelaire quote scribbled on the wall
The peach-scented creams and concoctions
The old radio clock that could only pick up
One station from Boston.
[[Home]] is a museum.
<font size=3>
All these years away and all I have
is a bag of clothes and a box of books.
My bedroom has not changed.
The Baudelaire quote scribbled on the wall
The useless creams and concoctions
The old radio clock that could only pick up
One station from Vermont.
[[Home]] is a museum.
<font size=3>
I like the smell of a cigarette
freshly lit.
The smell of a match
freshly struck.
The only people who smoked in my childhood were my aunt's guests.
They drank and gambled and stayed up all night.
My aunt served them chips and chocolate and soda.
To a child raised on raisin brans and [[cheerios]]
what a terrible wonderful [[feast]].<font size=3>
All these years away and all I have
is a bag of clothes and a box of books.
My bedroom has not changed.
The [[Anaïs Nin]] quote scribbled on the wall
The peach-scented creams and concoctions
The old radio clock that could only pick up
One station from Vermont.
[[Home]] is a museum.
<font size=3>
There are [[books]] in every room
overdue library books with
[[astronomical]] fines.
I always had such a hard time
saying goodbye to friends.<font size=3>
When I am sad I look for [[Orion]]
and his hunting dogs.<font size=3>
I was a fussy baby and a sullen child
I cried and I cried and I cried
I cried so much in my childhood
that one [[afternoon]] in August I told my parents
I would not reincarnate again
because I was exhausted
as if I had cried
lifetimes before this [[one]].<font size=3>
All these years away and all I have
is a bag of clothes and a bag of books.
My bedroom has not changed.
The Baudelaire quote scribbled on the wall
The peach-scented creams and concoctions
The old radio clock that could only pick up
One station from Vermont.
[[Home]] is a museum.
<font size=3>
growing up my favorite books were
fairy tales and detective stories.
They always sat on my desk,
always within reach, but also:
-a bottle of [[water]]
-love letters from Finland
-a Tori Amos mixtape
-emeralds (they are not real)
-the moon
-the moon
-the [[moon]]<font size=3>
Growing up my favorite books were
fairy tales and detective stories.
They always sat on my desk,
always within reach, but also:
-a bottle of [[water]]
-love letters from Finland
-a Tori Amos mixtape
-emeralds (they are not real)
-the moon
-the moon
-the [[moon]]<font size=3>
We had a small garden on our balcony
and eventually my [[mother]] took over
the small spots of green around the parking lot.
In the spring
tender sprigs of cilantro flutter
in the shade of holy basil.
She did not care for flowers
unless that flower bloomed into [[fruit]]
and still she did not eat apples
peaches or strawberries.<font size=3>Two four six eight
are the numbers that came up the most often
as we moved from city to city.
I sometimes wondered if this was the universe
sending me mixed messages.
Things [[change]]
Things do not change
do they
darling, grab your [[coat]],
we have to leave tonight.<font size=3>
We have always lived in apartments.
On the left, the small kitchen is full of dirty dishes.
Something smells good. Garlic and lemongrass.
Freshly washed [[cilantro]].
Maybe there is something in the oven.
Maybe there was a [[feast]] yesterday.
My father loves to cook.
Once, he bought horse meat, but the results were
inconclusive.
<font size=3>
I did not come [[home]] for several years.
Upon my return, my [[mother]] does not greet me.
“Is my room still the same?” I ask her.
My mother sighs and walks [[away]].
I am twenty-five years old, but my room is eighteen.
"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud
was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."<font size=3>
First there was the void.
Then a plane to Manitoba.
And then,
and then
[[Home]], then.