Things I forgot from before and during my exile:

-The way my grandma used to carry herself before growing old

-The way she would say authority without ever saying it

-The way she hit the maid that beat me with a shoe

-The way she packed my bags that day and took me

-The way she’d peel a mango for me in the mornings

-The way she’d hold me in the nights I cried out for attention

-The way her hands must have been worn then too

-The way that she must have been worn then too

Things I didn’t see from before and during my exile:

-The son who at a young age killed himself

-The bags under her eyes the days after he did it

-The way she cried out when I moved here

-The nights she held the clothing I left behind

-The phone calls my mother received shortly before

-The desperation in her eyes when she realized

Our home is a foreign threat

-The secret meeting my family had

-The secret luggage they packed for us

-The politics behind what was happening

-The politics that involved me before knowing

what politics even were

-The car ride I fell asleep in on the way to the plane

-My home country

for over 15  years

and counting