Tai-verberations
VII. Reminiscing at a polling station in Zhongzheng
“It may be argued that the past is a country from which we
have all emigrated.”
—Imaginary Homelands, Salman Rushdie
As we stood watching the vote tally,
every secret grain of delta silt sewn
into my skin
yearns
for a childhood home.
I conjure phantasms
from the homeland in my mind—
a lonely Vietnam without goodbyes
hidden behind birth pained eyes.
Amid vibrant Taipei,
I stare back at a monochrome memory—
regardless
if I turn to salt.
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