April 26, 2021

116/365

childhood is the bleary undone (dream)
you glance at through bewildered rheumy (eyes.)
incoherent recollections whispered like (prayers)
in the fog of precarious (memories.)
faded photographs locked in the (closet)
with the threadbare (stories)
you play on repeat like a favorite (record)

the first house i remember living in
is a house i don’t think we lived in.
it’s my mothers childhood home.
it’s in tehran.
it’s october
it’s nineteen seventy eight
i am four and tiny like a rag doll
the nation is about to be awash
in the young blood of revolution:
a fire at the cinema rex
were four men doused the building
with airplane fuel before setting it alight,
would spark generational anarchy.
it was all the talk in our house,
i assume.

i don’t remember all the rooms
it was small and packed with people—

(To be continued…)

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