The Women of Friends of Guest House, October 2018
I gave him a dollar.
He gave me coins.
She rushed in to the house and tore off her scrubs.
Eight minutes later she was ready for dinner – heels, purse, little black dress.
Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses, pleads Miss Liberty.
Children to the right. Parent to the left. Your will be reunited after the hearing.
The smell of grandma’s ginger cookies.
The smell of potatoes, dumped from the cardboard box into boiling water.
He was captivated by me and endlessly fascinated.
He turns coldly away, ice leaving small entrails behind him.
The more things change the more they stay the same I’m told.
Change constantly repeating itself, like six-second gifs.
I want change on my terms.
My brain can change.
My body cannot.
My relationships can change, exactly as I dictate.
The world can change, but only if we become kinder, more compassionate, and committed to justice.
Otherwise things must stay the same.
I am still young.