caroline ridgway

Drunk on serotonin cocktails, up,

always with a twist, midnight to sunrise tonics

of choice. In dreams we visit these places.

Reclaiming forfeited promises. It’s a wonder –

purest nostalgia for places unseen,

experiences unexperienced. I invent

memories, what we would have done in

years un-lost. I build by force the life you left

from salvaged scraps of paper and conversation,

stitched with unwoven threads. I tell stories,

knowing translation falls short.

For all I’ve traveled, I am sick for a shifting home.

[A little context for the title. The concept of hiraeth is generally understood to be more place-focused, but for me it evokes a deeper longing and homesickness for people and versions of life perhaps lost, perhaps unknown. The word has long fascinated me and this is my first attempt at trying to capture the feelings it evokes for me; as with much of my writing, my personal losses and experiences are the lens.]