There are fresh memories in my life.

Memories with my family, from my retreat, from film projects in Lima, from friends reconnected.

Polar bears at the zoo.

Tea with my aunt.

Cactuses in Huangascar.

Conversations with peace activists from Israel and Palestine.

Returning to my childhood pool.

Climbing aboard a replica of the Mayflower and asking question after question, my fourth-grade self never understood about US history.

What do they ask?

Don't shelve me yet.

Let me sit on the counter of your living room, vibrating away, while you remember all the silky strings that tied each object to your now.

They will vibrate until I tell their stories.

They are the pilot lights, sitting in row after row, asking not to be extinguished.

I will not participate in the work of forgetting.

This is why all the objects will sit on my desk rattling away until I have touched each one of them