I.
By the pond, ancestors I've never met
A lone branch on the old tree
Smoke escapes
An escape, like a revolution, a subversion of home
They fled to distant lands
Ancestors watched them go, ancestors died, ancestors were seen off
They had children, ancestors became ancestors
What was never forgotten became a wisp of incense each spring, a fading shadow in dreams
We have never met
On the lost ground of history, on the school field, nothing grew for decades but beehives
"Keep away"
"Keep away" — words that catalyzed a group photograph, to be drowned in nostalgia. He is middle-aged now
As fates diverge, the ache of memory remains fresh
Old dreams, the yellow stains of dreams, new dreams, dreams carrying the death of loved ones
Heaven — a prettified word — still terrifying
II.
Brick and mortar, memory warnings in the mirror
Branches restlessly silent, faded wall paint drying up again
It‘s a way of making those far away look back, a worried act of retention