One shoe off
then the other.

Quiet besides the
rhythmic replacement of clothing
fabric against my skin.
The lights don’t buzz
the sink doesn’t drip
for once
my day is quiet as
nights on Inis Mor
I the only one awake
after
Good Will Hunting was over
and we in our corner room were tucked in.
Me, climbing out of bed
socked feet padding
to the window
and the breeze was
like
Cape Cod
like
my grandmother
my childhood
cookies from boxed mix
and books from eight cousins.

I existed in many places suddenly
in the picture frame on my mantle
in the surf at the bay
in that quiet little room
in my sister’s heart
in the empty locker room after class
in my memories
as I unmade 
and then
made
myself again
taking off one version to
be another. 

One shoe
then the other.