Pyramids

I remember at the art museum we paid two dollars apiece to have our names printed in hieroglyphs

Ten letters all together on two fake scrolls, complete with an explanation of each symbol. As if that was really how our names would have been written however many thousands of years ago.

We found out the hard way that it's impossible to translate anything and preserve its true meaning; like realizing the Chinese symbol tattooed on your arm means loneliness-not strength

The hallow echo of our footsteps cascades off the marble walls as the security guard eyes us from the corner. Pushing through the deadweight doors we are greeted by a downpour, I roll together out certificates and slide them under my shirt into my back pocket

Trying to keep dry under my hood, I felt our encoded names pressing onto my skin, threatening to brand me with wet Egyptian

But I wouldn't mind because I'm sure our names are the same in every language.