going home

why am I
scared I guess
I don’t want

people to stare
at my hair
and my

mixed quasi
chinglish or
the slipups of

my tongue
I dread
they’d switch to

English that I’d
get lost in
my own city

in those concrete
castles where we
used to be kings

I’d recognize
smells but not
really I’d taste

my favorite dish
and think ‘was it
the oil or

the fish’ it’s
just different even
my mothers voice

eerily distant (a reminder)
like the sound of
waves reverberating

in a cell
I forgot how
I got into myself

It seems like
I’m going home
whatever that means

The Blobbing Fish
Written when I found out I was going home early from abroad. Get this feeling every time I go back after a long time abroad.