I hid behind long locks of dark hair back then.
And sang of places I would not visit for another three to five years.
Some places had real names but were fiction in my brain.
I gave myself an alias among others' real names.
Why was I so secretive?
"You are young," they'd tell me.
I didn't want to hear that.
The room was a relief from the Ohio cold in mid-January,
that was always when the air was the most brutal.
The community we built was short-lived but lovely
it was where I tucked myself away for the winter
before climbing out on my two hands
and not ever thinking to look back.