Sometimes you go out when you shouldn’t
You walk streets you’re not sure you should walk
The maps are there, but shaky
Your head is there, but shaky.
And you walk without knowing the path or the cracks
but you have to make it look like you do.
All you have is your mind and your faith in it.
“I hope this is right” will move your feet for miles
You don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re doing it.

It doesn’t matter that you want to hesitate
that your insides are a squishy mass of fear and uncertainty
and that your back is tense with the effort of listening for footsteps behind you
they’ll know you’re lost the closer they come.
So you don’t let them know
you walk steadfast, straight ahead, chin fixed and determined
and you cross the tricky traffic
sometimes without waiting to find its pattern
because you spend so much time in life
for a word of conviction, for a break from the cold,
for a love without restriction.
So you take your chances with the traffic
and soon you almost feel like it won’t hurt
adrenaline high, highway high, traveling high
across Rena, Coolidge, Franklin, Harvard
names that mean nothing and everything
because words and cold and love are flighty
but street names are true until they’re not
and then you’re lost until you’re not
and you’re scared until you’re not.
You’d think someday it would get easier
but then you’d also think that someday, it would stop being so damn fun
And even though you’d think so,
neither has happened yet
for me.

One thought on “Lost Woman

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