She sounds like
A bustling street
People talking all around her as she weaves between their unmoving figures
Flip-flop feet slap against a delightful combination of cement and brick
As the wind whistles around her ear and through her frizzy, ash-colored hair
Little kids’ excited voices fascinated with the cart owner’s descriptions of vivid action figures and intricate fake tattoos
Only 98 cents each

She tastes like
Berry-blend ice cream
Soft on her tongue, but tough on her teeth
As she bites into it in an attempt to get the overwhelming spice out of her throat
The spice came from the food truck at the edge of the market, long line reaches all the way through the city
One bite into the fluffy, powdery tortilla wrapped around the rich, God-blessed pork fills your whole body with flavor
Before the hot, burning spice settles in
And she realizes the best foods are always the ones she can’t pronounce

She feels like
Dusty antiques
Thousands upon thousands squeezed under tents
She runs her finger along the intricate groves carved delicately into the aged wood
She lets her hand glide through rows and rows of used clothing
Sensing dated patchwork and funky cable knits and a confusing batch of sequins
Rough blankets and rag breeze her fingertips
Reminding her instantly of her father’s calluses, his hand leather-like to the touch, holding hers with such sturdiness, almost like he couldn’t imagine her letting her go
She walks away from that stand

She smells like
A cheap, flimsy-wick candle
With a vague, barely descriptive name
Filled with satisfying poetry, but lacking any common sense
Rich artificial fragrance filled her nose, moving her to her brain, wistfully clouding her judgment
She hands the owner two Washingtons and takes the wrapped-up cylinder with a bright, cartoonish smile
Walking through the rest of the market, bombarded with smells so intense her eyes start watering
Thousands of cultures represented in a one-street fair
Punching lime mixed with heavily seasoned rice mixed with juicy teriyaki chicken
One flavorful scent after another

She looks like
My mother
Same eyes when they smile
Same habits when they’re nervous
Same face they make when I dance, identical proud gazes
The lady dealing out tarot cards at a stand towards the end of the street
Says reincarnation is real
I’m not sure if I want to believe her
Or not