do you?

“do you ever think about home?” the girl asked
i smoked heavily in those days, and i sat across from her chain-smoking and drinking sweet mint tea
i told her everything i missed about home
down to the shape of a Montréal snowflake
down the slush in my boots
down to the way people don’t smile at you in the streets

yes i said. i think about home all the time.



i miss the things i never had.
to speak only french….
i feel like i missed my rite of passage.