a house is the sine curveof your turbulence. its peaks and troughs
mirrors the flight ofshuttlecocks in the living room, growing up.
when i was twelve, youlaid Ma's body here,our court a meeting
point for last embraces.at twenty i locatedanother her, drew
a bisecting line; our paths furcating.what remains: you
tangent to home, at the intersectionof all our axes.
By Qamar Firdaus Saini
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