We’ve talked about this before.
I’m far from settled,
a nomad embracing her pariah skins,
bracing for embraces of her weighty history,
making quite sure she’s suited to stay put,
quite ready to dance in one place, to be recognized, “I saw you yesterday. I didn’t get your name…”
You don’t know what this is like.
If you make light,
you’ve shot past the point:
an arrow to the soft body of possibility.