Remembering

My great-grandmother doesn’t speak in my dreams, But she lives in waved rims of a soup bowl...
A photo of a nighttime road in Abu Dhabi, with cars whisking by. Their plate numbers are blurred in motion.
ℹ️
Originally written in 2018.

My great-grandmother doesn’t speak in my dreams,
But she lives in waved rims of a soup bowl
As bread crumbs soak in the broth.
Hiding behind porcelain plates
Spoon by spoon swirl jam into oatmeal.
Home always lay on a tablecloth
— pierce the red with a fork,
slowly suck salt out of pickled tomato.