Once upon a time, there was a little girl who wore her hair in pigtails. Once upon a time turned to the present, and the pigtails vanished. So did the girl. She does not remember her name, and she does not want to go home. Without language, she drifts through the city cracked window of an abandoned car, an empty lot where children play, a woman’s house, where she imagines her mother is waiting. She is a ghost, haunting the world in which she has no place. She is an orphan in a crowd a space between souls. She is a name on a list of names. I am haunted by her voice, and it will not leave me alone— screaming from inside my head, from deep in my gut, from somewhere else entirely: I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. She is screaming forever waiting for someone to hear her.