Where the Voice Forgot Its Name

Because the wind dragged red kites down to eye-level,
Because the milk in the bowl refused to warm,
Because names peeled off doorbells like old skin,
Because the broom bent in two and whispered,
Because your socks gathered their own dust,

While the moon grew restless in your tea,
While the curtains blinked without eyes,
While fingernails kept their secrets beneath the tile grout,
While your mouth shaped every room into a maybe,
While home became a postcard you forgot to send,

Though the shadows never slept in the same place twice,
Though the rain rehearsed your departure,
Though even the termites filed a report,
Though your shoes never forgave you,
Though all languages gnashed their vowels around you,

If the hallway had bent just an inch more,
If the mirror had looked away first,
If the left side of the bed had stayed faithful,
If the train delay had lasted a lifetime,
If the pigeons had memorized your name,

Before your silence taught the spoon to hesitate,
Before your hair surrendered to gravity’s sermon,
Before the couch bore a fifth dent where no one sat,
Before windows wept during cartoons,
Before soup learned to be tasteless on command,

Under the radio static hiding Morse code prayers,
Under three layers of laughter stacked like dinner plates,
Under the mattress's misremembered spine,
Under the table where secrets curled like sleeping cats,
Under the paint chipped away by breath alone,

Behind the couch a receipt dated you,
Behind your eyes a locked diary blinked,
Behind your ears the clock forgot its job,
Behind the socks a matchless metaphor sulked,
Behind the laughter you wore like borrowed shoes,

Across the street the lights mocked your choices,
Across the sky an asterisk swallowed your dreams,
Across the line your mother warned you not to cross,
Across each syllable you left unfinished,
Across the maps that refused to fold you in,

Because your voice rehearsed accents like escape routes,
Because your tongue spoke too many dialects of apology,
Because your back always faced the door,
Because chairs only half-invited your weight,
Because your key never kissed the lock right,

Since the child in you unpacked her suitcase nightly,
Since roots tangled themselves in air instead of soil,
Since your dreams rented motels by the hour,
Since familiar faces smiled like customs officers,
Since nothing wore your scent longer than strangers,

While morning waited behind a wall of maybe,
While even echoes refused to mimic you,
While neighbors spelled your name with ellipses,
While towels never dried you completely,
While laughter echoed without registering your frequency,

Though borders dissolved inside your bloodstream,
Though every plate held a different geography,
Though your hands tried sculpting permanence out of fog,
Though calendars rebranded themselves every week,
Though every street was a tongue-twister you couldn’t finish,

Even when chairs remembered your weight,
Even when letters found their way with misspelled names,
Even when one photograph got your angle right,
Even when plants began surviving under your care,
Even when no one asked “where are you really from?”,

Still your steps walked a tempo not taught in this city,
Still your dreams came subtitled,
Still your name fit like a jacket you wore for the picture,
Still your smile was a password and not a place,
Still the wind asked you to translate your footsteps,

Because your shoes always pointed two directions,
Because doors gave you options, never invitation,
Because laughter made room but never called your name,
Because the soup boiled but tasted borrowed,
Because every silence rehearsed a monologue not yours,

Then slowly, like bread rising without being watched,
Then subtly, like a scar finding pride,
Then stubbornly, like weeds rewriting the garden,
Then gently, like dusk learning to speak in lilac,
Then honestly, like tears refusing to hide anymore,

When someone let your silence finish its sentence,
When the hallway stopped echoing only your past,
When the dog barked at everyone but you,
When your coffee order was remembered with a wink,
When one key turned without complaint,

After the fork found its matching plate,
After the ground stopped flinching at your touch,
After your name returned in someone else’s dream,
After the neighbor asked for your recipe,
After your breath synced with the breeze,

Even then, you waited,
Even then, you questioned the welcome,
Even then, your shadow carried an accent,
Even then, you folded memories like delicate receipts,
Even then, the echo asked for ID,

But something stayed.
And something returned.
And something hummed your song without prompting.
And something didn't ask for proof.
And something—finally—named itself:

Belonging.