where I come from

where i come from, the heat sticks in the air like a bullet in a dead man's craw-

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where I'm going, I spit the casings out in the fire I must build to be reborn.

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where I come from is landlocked, lagoons, lakes-

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where I'm going is by the edge of an eternal ocean, the sandpaper sound of waves rocking me to sleep.

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where I come from, silence is survival-

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where I'm going, I unlock my lips and throw away the key, sing loudly though I don't know how to carry a tune.

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where I come from, a lullaby is sung low in a voice I'm afraid I'll forget-

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where I'm going, I'll find the person it belongs to again and I'll no longer have to strive to remember.

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where I come from, there is nothing left but ashes and char, hospital records, the residue of a name shed like an ill-fitting skin-

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where I'm going, they've always known what to call me and, most importantly, what it is that will make me come running.

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where I am

is a dot on the map of the universe labelled 'you are here'.

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where I am

is the slow part in a book just before it gets good, the long slow stretch of the journey that makes the beginning a beginning and the end an end.

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where I am

the streets are silent in the pre-dawn, my neighbors arguing on the floor below.

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where I am

I can drive anywhere and hear the little silver capsule of my mother’s ashes click against my rearview mirror.

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where I am

winters are cold and stretch six months, during which time I could be accused of shutting my doors and forgetting to dream-

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but when I do,

words race through my mind at night like flickering images on a film reel slipping through spokes that click and clack, projecting life onto the dead.

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where I am

my face is flawed and far from spotless, but when i come across a mirror, I never fail to meet my own eyes.