I turn the pages of my memory
like a flip book in reverse;
each frame a butterfly’s flutter,
each moment, a folk tale’s verse.
I go back, and further back,
I dig a little deep-
snowfall, deodars, mountains, school time,
a little girl with promises to keep.
And so here I am,
five years small.
There’s a nip in the valley air,
but I don’t feel it at all.
I don’t see the puddles and stones,
nor the swaying trees so tall.
I see my home at the end of the road
and, my little sister perched on the old wall.
For I have already started school,
she’s still too young to attend;
so she patiently waits, elbows on knees,
lost in plans, playing pretend.
From far away I see her eyes;
dull one moment, then sudden spark and shine!
She’s seen me! And in that look,
the whole world becomes just mine.
She walks toward me and so do I;
midway we meet, our laughter grows.
I plant my pink-strapped bottle on her neck-
a childhood joke, a ritual no one knows.
Our fingers slip into each other’s hand,
like a dance well-rehearsed.
Side by side we hop back home,
small feet, big dreams, hearts fit to burst.
Yes, we long for that home we lost,
But look, my dear, just see where we are!
Those dreams, those days
they still give us wings.
together we’ll fly some more-
now that we’ve made it so far.
Stories of Silverfish 