Where I am from
I’m from a place where no one knew
how to unravel the end of a new spool of thread.
So, I never learned how to fly a kite in the blue sky.
I’m from a place where the sea was kinder,
and she always brought gifts for boats with holes,
where someone always swallowed the oars.
I’m from a city that was never alive,
where neither bad things happened to good people nor good to bad,
where nothing occurred ever.
I’m from a place where the backyard of an old school
was safer than the clutches of home,
where I buried more souvenirs in the backyard, less in my burrows.
I’m from an ancient pond, which always gave me scratches and debility.
I’m from a fireplace where my grandfather saved me
some peanut butter,
which he always made with his bare hands and grinding stone.
I’m from the south of the north and north of the south.
I’m from fog, and I’m from nerve.
I’m from a place that can no longer dictate where I’m going next.
