by Cianna Garrison
Sunlight casts rays like marigolds on my face, pungent with scent. You, your Coke-bottle glasses, eyes that ache for sight. She, her sing-song voice humming synchronous, sonorous notes I can catch with my fingers. The sea’s gentle breath whispers, exhales unintelligible words in its spray. I let them soak my feet. My grandparents, ancestors, drifting specters, have cast off their corporeality. They lash their tongues at us fallible humans, “Do not leave things unsaid.” I yearn for home, but all I have are memories, shifting like sands, salting my palms with absence.