I still say “tea” with the same guttural “chrrr” that you used

And count the seconds to steep it using my fingers and my breath.

When I chant, I hear your lesson on the downward emphasis

Of “shok” at the end of a line in a Tibetan prayer.

I find books we studied a long time ago reappearing on my shelves.

You’re far away in another land in a home that I refused.

Yet I find that you remain with me, as you said you would.

Do I even want you to go away?

What did she hear on the journey?

The flame’s roar consumed everything that could burn.

The soldier’s laughter made a mockery of joy.

Her mother’s voice would never again say the blessing for taking challah.

Her father’s whispers; the creak of the sodden ship; her silence.

At Ellis Island the raucous seagulls wheeled overhead and cawed.

You will find the house empty

Front door swinging on a rusted dream

Kitchen table cluttered with broken hopes

Furniture dusted with faded memories

Not mine but others

I did not take anything

I left nothing of value

I travel light