no.7 from displaced

lying in the light of christmas

somewhere in between
home and place

i squint to see
the constellations wrap the fir
and wait for shooting stars
to carry me back to myself

when i didn't offer gifts
to closed hands
turned backs
deaf ears

when i moved like a woman
spoke like a woman
thought like a woman

before i lost myself to you
and you also

just briefly
but long enough

so i reach for the next branch
and search the surface of old ornaments
to find a reflection of myself

press it against my chest
beneath a new wall made of eggshells
and thin ice

and move forward
only

toward a new light.