homeward bound

i am on my way but my phone died & i don’t have a map & i can’t read a map anyway & i miss my mommy & the night is so dark where the stars’ light does not reach. the sickly glow radiating from midtown is not a constellation, just conflation. elation died. i lie down in the middle of eastern parkway & it’s almost home. but roosters crow in my stomach—wake up, little one! wake up! nausea. & i am sea sick on the sidewalk, my sea legs folding when the subway starts to stop. i am starting to stop. the hum of the freeway that keeps spiraling its way up from pelvic floor to sinus pressure & the deviated septum gives way to tsunami. the smell of rain is different on pavement than it is through maple leaves, through bark, through my father’s hands. dying is different in secret than it is on the stage. i can’t get back up. but i get back up. yank the spikes out from my throat & make my costume change. send the letter of resignation, shred the lease they left waiting on the kitchen table. it’s not you, it’s me.  it’s always me. i can’t resign from being me. i trace the pathway etched in my palm all the way back to the off ramp. follow the flow of the delaware river. fill my feet with gasoline & press to the future. mama, i’m almost home.