EXHIBIT A
You call ASHES your ancestor’s ground bones because
Here there is nothing for the people like us, those born
from MOUNTAINS. We only brought CARPETS: my
father filled suitcases with them in Iran. We sold them
at the front of our restaurant, pretended they were
premium goods. For $850, one could make their
MIDDLE EASTERN fantasy home come true.
I grab handfuls of DEAD people’s pictures, wipe
dust off their faces. My father calls one “Maman,”
another “brother.” We call this MEMORY: blurry images,
1970s Qazvin through a fingerprinted lens, people
I do not recognize. I am told to know their names
and blurry faces by heart; I can’t even remember my
FAMILY NAME sometimes. Americans stumble over it.
In kindergarten, it is too long for my UNTRAINED tongue.
I ASSIMILATE and concoct a new one, only to bring it home
and present it with shame. It is met with SILENCE.
The next day, I try a second time. I fail again. They call this
RESILIENCE in the UNKNOWN. Us half-breeds call it
a different name: LOSS OF IDENTITY. We worship
poetry and don’t even know why, stick sugar cubes under
our tongues, wash SIN away with tea. For now, it seems
like all we are TRAINED how to do—
Exhibit: Hometown, Post-Disaster
Deflated basketball, red and white
[c.a. 2010-2030]
Used in a common ball game, popular in the 20th and 21st century. Teeth marks suggest the presence of a [household pet, domicile and prone to grief/wild animal]. The ferocity of something trapped in the suburbs. Faded insignia indicate traces of a name, perhaps once written in permanent marker. Black or blue. I thought of how it must have trembled in the wind, a body untethered to anything it knew as ownership. The puncture in the material reveals mineral deposits, confirming the presence of water––a strong force that carried it away from the rows of closed windows, unblinking.
LeCreuset pot, aquamarine glaze
[Early 21st century]
Testing indicated traces of glazed pork, the fat golden & still clinging to the vessel. I wanted to scrape it clean, polish the inside until I could see the remnants of every bygone year. I thought of the bare bulbs above the pockmarked table. On the side: hairline fractures possibly caused by accident––the rapid acceleration of a dish towards [kitchen tile in buttery yellows/a face, twisted] as a product of fear or anger.
Garden hose, green rubber
[Late 20th century]
Irrigated the stretch of yellowing grass along a driveway––purple irises, the soft dust of a dandelion patch. They wanted to keep it alive, duct tape patches and all. I wanted to fit it to the nearest tap, see if it could still funnel water into the parched mouth of [dirt/a lonely family].
Television, 45-inch display
[c.a. Late 2010s, according to the model]
Once used to sooth [dinner arguments/the aftermath of a divorce], the fossilized paper notes discovered attached to the lower right-hand corner suggests [short-term memory/fear of forgetting]. When discovered, there was nothing but a gaping hole where the wires plugged in. Fistfuls of data lost in the rubble.
Deck of cards, incomplete
[c. a. 21st century, airline-issue]
The earliest versions of playing cards were allegedly from [the Tang dynasty/a vizier’s court]. Later, they evolved into [dead aristocrats/a collection of dirty fingerprints]. They became popular keepsakes from the skeletons of run-down motels, flights where the hostesses smiled too wide. Their lips redder than any visage I could shuffle through.