Amara · Nairobi
The tide comes back to the same rocks whether or not anyone is watching. I do too: to my mother’s kitchen, to a language I stopped speaking.
The tide comes back to the same rocks whether or not anyone is watching. I do too: to my mother’s kitchen, to a language I stopped speaking.
A doorway I have not lived behind in years. The body remembers the threshold even when the address has changed.
Not a place, it turns out. A time of day: the hour the light goes long and forgiving.