Here – a poem. No, the title is “Here”. But yeah, here’s a poem.

I am here. This is no small feat.

I have worked to get here. I have scratched the backs.

I have tricked my mind, twisted the words,

made a fool of myself repeatedly.

I have even felt like a slave to my own ambition.

To have escaped here

I have carefully lost my way

again and again

cooked the wrong ingredients together

rode in the wrong cars with boys

Made a mad rush to undress

Made myself sick from espresso

and turned from it, too, from the canal side

Turned from the tracks, turned for support

went down streets with falling-down houses

hanged empty window frames for art

Where are all the people?

I tap dance for them in hot bulb sleep

I beg, I’m eager.

You felt me once, did you not?

I longed to be here over everything

Here gets you everywhere…

I sit here in the sun on a bench, seek

refuge under the black awning tomorrow

while braver souls walk wetly by,

others clouded in perfume.

They seem to know who they are

but not where, for they don’t see me.

I am here.

I pay dearly to get here.

I crammed myself in the luggage rack

I skirted the English language menu

I am here.

I should be only here

on the brick street, clinging to the spit,

grateful for the reality.

I should have been prepared

I should never have taken advantage

I should learn not to fear the bike

I should speak up

I should upgrade from trial-sized

I should embrace the consequences

Because I am here–I can’t deny it.

Here to be continued.


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