Artifacts of Motion

The walls hold memories, delicate fragments,  

a Moroccan lantern swings, amber-lit in quiet.  

Porcelain cranes from Kyoto guard one corner,  

their pinched wings poised mid-forgotten flight.  

Beneath, a woven rug whispers Afghan sands,  

its reds worn thin by years of soft feet.  

A Balinese mask grins above the kitchen door,  

its painted smile foreign, unmoved by time.  

Bookshelves break like cliffs with ceramic tides,  

Mughal teacups beside a chipped Greek vase.  

Wind chimes hum from an Andalusian market,  

their hollow breath swaying softly, faraway notes.  

The house drinks travel, each room pressed wide,  

years tucked tightly into plaster and pane.  

Not a design but a map of long pauses,  

a slow unscrolling of where she's been, undone.