there is a darkness in these shelves,
rising from the stardust and skin
of other peoples’ memories.
our memories are buried
with the ancient dead
and grow as the
flowers of forgetting
i don’t recall.
on the way to mithi khua (land of the dead), the mizo dead went through fields of ‘hawi lo par’ (flowers of not turning back), and drank ‘lung lo tui’ (water of no heartache). they could then pass happily into the afterlife, and no longer pine for those they left behind.