Nobody’s secretary, no one’s wife.
I’d be a nomad for all of my life.
Traditions converged as I traversed this earth,
discovering foibles, unveiling my worth.
What I saw as empty was something to fill.
Was it something to savor or something to kill?
It depended on choices of what I would savor.
Would I hold out for love or just curry favor?
The choices I made determined my life.
I was somebody’s secretary, someone’s wife.
But first was a nomad so when I came back,
the world was a memory, not merely a lack.
I no longer wander. I no longer roam,
for when I did, I brought it back home
so the whole world’s my neighborhood spread out around me.
From here in its middle, I let it astound me.