I ain't ever belonged to no one-- not even those that came before,
those frightened immigrants and spanish tangerines tumbling below deck, toppling into the scattered bed rolls that still smell like cumin and tarragon, sea and spiced salt seeping through the strong lungs of every youthful San Fermin boy in Pamplona the raised voices in Seville singing San Jose and my mother's maiden name--
i fumble in the dark for things to keep me rooted the strong arms of working men and their weak hearts barely beating secondhand boys breathin' dollars an' truck exhaust lookin' for their match, someone that'll fit or do 'em just right sharp things that'll sit pretty and look good in lowlight,
and me with my tulip bulb heart plantin' myself in wax, in muck, in Utqiaġvik, Alaska during the Polar Nights, in my palms, beneath pillows, sproutin out the lungs of those unassumin' who think i'm healin' them of all the silly, misplaced ideas
but they got me creepin' out the sides of their cheeks hookin' these delicate stems leaving thin perforations all along their sheets gratin and sharpenin they's teeth--
used to think i was the sun real pretty and smooth like them stones you find down near the river or leaves just 'bout to fall, clingin to low hangin' branches just askin to be plucked or swept away but i'm not any of those things