With early mornings squealing in cold train stations
and hot cardboard coffee. With day drifting to night
in gusts around my ankles and not having to move.
With lovers I've hated, then come to appreciate after all
With mothers eager to show off their miracle babies to strangers
With quarrels that are none of my business in languages I don't understand.
I depend upon the generosity of the universe both because of the
Ancient laws of hospitality, And because I am from here.
Odysseus, a tried host, a good guest, with stories to tell
about the day I dressed up as a sheep, a cyclops,
a siren, circe. Every day I weave and pick
apart; it's a rhythm like breathing. The laughter of you had
to be there. The fanny pack that holds all you need, and the forgetting.