memory palace
by kosal so
i keep deep memories
of a one-bedroom apartment
devoid of gas,
electricity, and food.
i am unable to forget like a habit,
lying beside my younger siblings
as sleeping seahorses,
to trick our pierced bellies.
where i am from everyone is poor
but feeling poor is a hammer
that nails us down
to the bottom of the latter.
thirteen hours, six days a week,
clawing for crumbs under the table
because no one will give legal work
to a woman who does not speak,
read, or write english.
how would she feed
four hungry mouths growling
in her empty stomach?
feeling poor lives on my skin
and in my bones
the way sorrow lives
in the voice of a violin.
i ache for everything
normal and unfamiliar
but what is normal
when familiarity is invasive?
feeling poor lives
like a skeleton in my body
I carry it around
like an unwanted corpse. | KS
