Take me back to the days of sunflower dresses
and the taste of sweet raisins. 
When Spring and Summer were sisters,
when my sister and I were younger.

Take me back to the humming and the whispers.
I can still hear my grandmother's delicate lullaby ---
     drifting away to a part of the memories I have little control over.
Because for every new memory I make, one from a younger age vanishes.
It won't dissipate into thin air,
but it will not have an anchor on which to remain grounded.
Floating without a victim, maybe the bad one's will slip away too,
maybe we need the bad one's as our own personal anchors.
So call me a shipwreck with no memory of collision.

I don’t remember your 5 a.m. phone calls to foreign countries.
Your decision to make this country your home,
hoping to make this new home as memorable as the one you left behind.
With no remembrance of mom having to work two jobs,
when she had no one to translate her broken English,
falling steadily
her memories were victories.

And victories should be remembered.
So let me hold onto the memory of your sacrifice.
The anchor that will always
bring me back
to you.