Places have memories. It scares us
to think so. I am like bamboo, placeless,
transplanted somewhere new, staked
with foreign weather. But I
remember. We pause in our work, turn
our faces up to rain, our open mouths, one
after one. We think desire is enough.
It’s not. We build our privacies, impenetrable,
thin. We want places to remember us.
- Eva Saulitis, Prayer 28