And here I find myself city bound.

Not city bound: towards, but city bound Like ropes, but more like anchors on my shoes. Here I am taking up the space to which I’m entitled. My docking, my slip, boat floating on the safety of land’s edge.

Here I am back again. Sails carefully rolled and wrapped, protecting the frayed canvas that awaits darning. In time. For now, let the mast breathe. Sea legs tucked and stabled by the bar stool rungs. Here I am cleansed by the taste of salt water and dark stout.

Me and my baby are going to make this city ours.