Sometimes

Sometimes it feels like feet haven’t touched ground since I moved 3,000 miles from the only home that’s ever stayed in one place.

Sometimes it feels like floating, cupped by a current of queer possibility and a horizon that is wide and welcoming.

Sometimes like drifting. Like being cut loose from intuition and left to play at personhood without the subtext, the history, the truth.

Sometimes I long for something solid beneath me. Something stone and stubborn. Something that speaks to these scarred knees and aching back. Something that will meet my gaze and can name its purpose and its ancestors.

Sometimes freedom and isolation get used as synonyms and I can’t tell the difference without the constant call of train whistle and tv drone to orient me.

Sometimes the only taste of normal comes in fleeting moments when the air holds heat, I steer the car and the light falls like it did that summer.

Sometimes I remember the broken earth beneath me as I wrote by the creek and my whole heart filled with holy and I could see each exhalation of the moment as a gift.

Sometimes gratitude is palpable and my smile couldn’t be fuller. Sometimes I can feel the tender pushing of emerging green roots looking to take hold. Sometimes I think words like forever here.

But today I just wanna go home.