Who She Thought She Was

Had nothing to do with who she really wanted to be.

In that foreign place next door, she lost herself in watching the birds dart through branches, land on precarious perch, and zoom to their next one.

She was a bird, darting, landing, zooming, and landing so she could take off again with powerful surge to sky.

She watched clouds mound, tear, and streak the sky with sears of scarlet, amber, and unnameable violets that broke what little heart remained to her.

All that day, she watched the world, her own huddled, shawl-draped self,
old before her time — or was she?

Without that title, those expectations, those lies she lived so smoothly she didn’t think about them anymore, just did what she had to do, who was she?

She was herself, watching birds dart and zoom, clouds dance, and booted feet scuff dirt as she wavered her way home.

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