What do they see when they see me?

Not the careful hours of folding

The precise measurements and testing

Sure, they see all the bags and maybe

The passport full of stamps

They may hear me coming

Out of breath with jangling trinkets

If I pass closely by they may smell incense

Or sweat. Or the weird hotel shampoo

But they don’t see me

Because they haven’t seen what I’ve seen

With my own eyes

Or followed my nose down market streets

Or heard what whispers and cries still

Ring in my ears

They don’t understand that I

Never left home

I carry it with me and

Every step takes me closer

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *