Here I am again, not fitting my skin
Up against the stucco wall, saying words about men and jobs and kids
Parrot-like, not knowing what they mean or why I recite them
Other than to stay hidden. The work of it wears me to a nub.
My back is too straight, my hands twisted into girl-scout knots
I think. I never knew a girl scout, but I read the guide. Fire comes easy.
They twitter around me like birds, shiny beady eyes suspicious
I move slowly, lest to startle them and incite a mass ascension
Leaving me bare and featherless, shamed and flightless.
Hug, hug, kiss, kiss
Finally in my car I relax, the hard bones brazen
My dirty feet, my snarled hair. The smell of a campfire.
Roads on Her Face 