100 . five directions to me
Climb out of the Pacific Ocean, where fake islands crown a shore, and a dead boat floats bloated in the distance. Walk four blocks away from the waves. Ask any of my nieces. They’ll open their hands, read their palms, find me in a wrinkle that roots to their heart lines. Blindfold my mother and tell her I am hungry. Fill her hands with parathas … Continue reading 100 . five directions to me