dépaysement.

How do you love a city that is not home?
How do you trade mango trees
for concrete,
motos for underground subway trains?
It's been so long since you've felt
the island breeze against your face,
felt the sand between your toes,
tasted fish cooked fresh on the beach.
But do you still remember the words
to your country's national anthem?
I know you're busy
trying to learn the words
to a different song
in a different language.
But in the process your memory grows fuzzy
and you're forgetting people's names.
My great-grandmother. My great-grandfather.
My grandfather's middle name.
Olimpia. Fernando.
Papias.
You were surprised that I was the one who remembered.
I know this city suppresses just as it seduces,
it tries to kiss your mouth shut.
But while this city makes it hard for you to sing,
just remember --
I'll always be the one
who remembers the lyrics
to your song.