to attend the San Francisco Art Institute.
She cannot wait to return to the vibrant city.
She makes me want to travel there, too.
I learn about her vintage camera collection,
her mother’s bout with writer’s block,
her sister-in-law and their unwavering bond.
I learn more about her brother,
and begin to appreciate his enduring spirit.
She talks about how she loves to eat sweets,
fitting, because her voice is honeyed,
and she smells of vanilla.
She tells me she hates mushrooms:
“So gross, Mati! They taste like dirt!”
And then, she shares a story
about dandelions and her little niece.
They blow on magical blossoms,
sending seeds and wishes into the breeze.
It is my favorite of all her stories.
She makes me laugh,
and sometimes,
when she smiles,
I feel like I could cry.
Two weeks after we met,
she asks me to visit Sacramento with her.
“To see Nick,” she says, watching the waves.
“I think you two should meet.”
You have escaped the cage. Your wings are stretched out. Now fly.
—Rumi
elise
I haven’t visited my brother since we moved.
