I wish there was something
That meant something to me,
Some old family heirloom
Or piece of jewelry
That I could hold in my hand tonight,
And smile to know
That my memories were as solid
As my desire to go,
To run away from anything
That ever reminds me of home.

But one by one, as my people have passed,
Other descendants who were there,
Or who had the nerve to ask
For the things they wanted,
Received, and I stand,
Still unwilling to ask,
Unwilling to believe in things,
But wondering,
If holding a bauble could be better
Than remembering
The smell of ginger and nutmeg
Coming from my Grandma's cookie jar.

-jenn