From a coffee cup’s sweet bitterness into cold wind swept knowing that the place you search and yearn for is nowhere, no street names, no city gate. No degrees nor longitudinal measures to speak of. A compass can be useless when you are lost. Nowhere multiplies in your chest ravenous, like yeast. It hurts. The exact second, your shadow on the pavement. Sometimes your life is a minute ahead and a few days behind the place you want to be. Sometimes things align and you want to tear a piece of the shadow as you would a piece from a loaf of bread. But this place you search has no replicable terrain, no map. It moves as you move. A shapeshifter with a tropic of memory, a tropic of fear, a meridian to decide you can and an equator to know you choose.
This is the city that saw the raw mass of me, the quick
and slow of me, the I’m afraid and I can’t of me, the
it’s beyond me side of me. This is the place that showed
me I fit. I take space. This city let me, let me, be. My
hair really is that size side of me, each shaft an electric
tendril vibrating its own, humming life, the untamable
side of me. See how the world dances above my
eyebrows? This continent plus that continent, together,
on y va ensemble, vamos juntos, side of me. The city
that said, “Me gustas asi,” don’t comb down anything,
don’t tame nothing, pa’que? The leaf that blows away
in autumn and returns breaking bark in spring. The leaf,
the branch, the trunk, the root, the tree, all of it,
I am all of it. Asi. Aqui.