Wandering

I carry a compass and a magnet wherever I go
in case I’m lost or don’t like where I’m headed next
extra boots and matches in case my feet get tired of wandering

and I do get tired, sometimes
when I’m left stranded in a port town riddled with identical red-bricked buildings
no boy that knows my name

I’m left longing to be nothing more
nothing more than just myself, just for a day
doing justice to all this trying
only being this fast, this smart
only this tall

so far in life I’ve been gifted flowers
a parakeet to sing until I fall asleep
a wooden watch
and honestly I feel like I’m behind on catching on how loving all of it has been
as if I’m not grateful really, or undeserving
I’ve been wanting to give so much more than warm gestures of some sort
but I seem to only bring back home new socks from all these ports

and although pampered with soft cushions and fancy magazines
I am comforted most when I perform the ritual most known to me
checking whether my front door is locked
longing for safety
for the third time now
before I drift off into the night