how my trampoline gave me commitment issues

by Zuleikha Sayani

blue polyethylene surrounding a black platform
home was to
jump, jump, jump
non-stop jump
the rhubarb hues of the scorching desert sun in my eyes
the crash of glass and sizzle of oil as my mother prepares dinner
the travel of sound in a place too large for my too small eyes
the travel of whispered murmurs, my nonchalance
preoccupation with the jump, jump, jump
how high will my fingers reach? I’m still jumping,
I’ve learnt to jump so fast, illusionary almost
that you won’t see me leave.
the rotten apples I saw my cousin collect in a home-made basket
are the ones I now leave in my path
the roar of my father’s voice when he walked inside and
the friction of the door when he left
are memoirs imprinted –
some places have not learnt how to leave my mind
yet home for me is the sound of people leaving, the biscuit crumbs they left near my trampoline,
my mother rushing to clean the surrounding marble, the gretel to my hansel
the searching, the constant searching
and the leaving
the rage and fight to leave.
now, home is
to always be the one to walk away first.