Nostalgia doesn’t melt like water underfoot
doesn’t climb on the back of a horse
to be carried far from our hearts
It stays here
rooted in racked flesh
drinking up tears
and roiling our blood

Nostalgia doesn’t flow away
like riverwater
but becomes a sea
pulling at us relentlessly
—  Irma Pineda, from “Nostalgia Doesn’t Flow Away Like Riverwater,” trans. Wendy Call, Michigan Quarterly Review (Spring 2013)