You see girl and mother
I see summer and wishing wells and fields that grew smaller as I grew older.
I hear the morning doves in our apple trees and the crunch of pebbles under tractor wheels and the scrape of grandfather's spoon on porridge bowl.
My superpower would be teleportation but when we burn the fragrant turf we smuggled to this home from that home I am not here but there--among the bogs and the mud and line of wellingtons at the door.
Stationary by physics
Transatlantic by the senses.