I remember those places I visited as a child through words I do not know. I miss my first home in the flowers that I never learnt to name. Those white petals that had bright orange stems, resembled jasmines, were strewn about the road. I know the way they smelt, and I know how they left wet patches on the soil when crushed by our car tires leaving.


Plump Clementines


Can we build ourselves a trail

Of plump clementines

Pick them up from the soil,

And eat with slippery hands,

As we walk until the sky

Has drunk the sunlight,

Tell me all the tales,

You couldn’t last time.