I try to walk a mile on a boardwalk
in your shoes. Trip on your laces.
See your life flash before me. Details of mine
get scrubbed off a stucco wall.

moving moving parental divorce
moving moving starve date rape
moving moving miscarriage obsession
moving addiction overdose on purpose
moving stabilize common law divorce
slipping obligate ram ventilator
about to pause aka slow suicide relief
traveling scarred terrified still moving

I can’t describe what I see of yours.
It’s not my place.
Where is my place?
Help me find my place.

I live in a building
made of saudade and duende
at the bottom
of a concrete hill. Help me

celebrate reverse
graffiti where it belongs.

What’s left. Just a washed-out, deep
female voice that cracks
in the urban wilderness
after a late night rain.

I have leaned over
the flickering flame of your thinking
candle. Am singed without regret.
Help me find mine.