so I hoard memories sort them for seeds to plant pray they root - Lisa Suhair Majaj

what's left but
shards of memory
smoothed and hoarded,
shrapnel griefs,
a few regrets?

Once she could have held anything steady
and safe: a glass of tea, her brother's baby.
Now her hands shake at the weight of a fork.

Who knew the past would follow us so far,
years collapsing like an ancient accordion,
scraps of memory tucked like torn photographs
into the sockets of our eyes?