"I must've kneeled in the wrong place,

and prayed to the wrong god."

Sometimes maps don't do the

territory justice. How do you

account for culture, language,

and social (mis) demeanor?

The subtleties and xenophobia

hang like wet clothing and

inappropriate fashion decisions.

I walk out of step. (People stare

if you're the only one who isn't afraid)

What makes us weird? How do I get past

my prejudice for comport, affect and mannerism,

when people seek to cast feces and howl?

This is where I find your memory: the spot where skin meets, softly traces another’s outline as it recognizes itself. A place in this old house holds pictures I once did, condensed to small parts.

You talked as your mouth made shapes. No sounds just pictures I found to go with shapes. I saw that girl collapse in your living room, saw parts of me moving as you did.

I pretended to move with you. Not your words but mine are now space bars between us.