an old lady who was sitting in front of me
suddenly opened her mouth to ask,
“are you stocking up for hibernation?”
a question directed at a friend standing beside her,
carrying a tall rack of groceries
her groceries gave off a musty smell, not of the subway’s
but one
that I could easily tell traveled from a nearby asian supermarket
with aisles of fruits and vegetables that I could never remember
the names of
but whose tastes and textures I could still
distinctly remember,
glancing at them chatting along.
I became the eavesdropper, the actor,
pretending to stare off into space out of disinterest,
using my ears to quickly search
for more familiar words.
I was starving for home
how foreign their conversation must have sounded to others
on the train
but as strange as their loud, verbal intonations might have come off to the ears of many I sought solace in them
smiling to myself at the thought of
a secret language that exist only for the three of us
a world that belonged to only us
it was as if their words had become hands lightly holding onto my shoulders, gently massaging them,
sending warmth to my bones after 6 p.m.
reassuring me with words like,
“I see you, you know?
you’re like the sun
but this sun set in your eyes months ago.
because you are tired.
and it is okay to be tired.
because the sun cannot depend on others to rise."
as they continued sharing the details of their day to each other I was brought back
to my mom’s kitchen
to the sound of fire sizzling
to the scent of freshly-cooked rice
to the smell of salty fish sauce
my mouth salivating at the thought of coming back to
a home-cooked meal
my heart rising at the thought of coming back to my mother’s arms, and aching after realizing how skinnier she has become since I have left
when I reached my stop
I silently bade farewell to the conversation,
silently thanking the old ladies for their words
walking off
I reached the destination that
I now call “home”
hopeful expectations filled my heart
but as I came back
there was only silence
waiting
Photo: Brett Sayles (2018)
Poet Bio
Home?
Anywhere I go is home.
What is home to you?
A state of mind.
Jessica Nguyen/Nguyễn Thị Mai Nhi is a world traveler, activist, and writer. Though having lived in the U.S. for most of her life, she hops from one country to the next in hopes of discovering pieces of home to fill her Vietnamese-American soul. Her prose and poetry appear in AASIA Journal, diaCRITICS, Womanly Magazine, and Sinister Wisdom. Her first book of poems is “softly, I speak,” (Louisiana Literature Press, 2020), which was selected as part of Louisiana Literature Press’s chapbook series. To learn more about her current projects, go to byjessicanguyen.com, and follow her @byjessicanguyen on social media.
Comments