Xan Bernay

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Anemoia

I am nostalgic for a past that was never mine
Peach juice dripping
from my chin
on the porch
Cousins catching fireflies in humid August
Jumping off the dock into the icy lake, green weeds like slippery fish in the
twilight
Sisters sharing secrets under covers
That didn't happen.
Maybe someone else's past.
Not mine misplaced.
And I cry on the plane
when it's westbound.

Xan is a writer based in California. Her work explores memory, identity and the stories we inherit. She is currently at work on a novel.