I want sometimes to throw it all off, most days, really. I was born this way, some gypsy whispered in my ear as a baby. The other day I heard my Mom downstairs telling my Dad, "I just keep hoping someday she'll be like the rest of us."
I scare them with my promises of seeing the world, of walking this country.
So far I've scattered myself around a few states, a few countries. Michigan, California, Texas, Arizona, the Philippine Islands. That list makes me shudder with satisfaction, some core hunger in me is abated for a moment.
I want to sit by the soul of this country, every moment, like somehow a parallel universe in all the worlds; the tiny plays on small town stages shuttered out on little dots of this quilt, this Great American Afghan.
Right now I'm home for a bit. I had thrown off college, flickered out of everyone I loved world's for three months and figured out my soul at Reevis Mountain School of Self Reliance. Figured out that I have a certain dream I cannot tell you of until I do it that I cannot shake off. But Momma got cancer and I came home, til she's a little better. And I can't leave again til I'm a little stronger.
My brother, when I was a little girl angry at the whole scene of what is and wanting to fly as always, gave me a necklace of an eagle raising its wings. The American symbol, and the hope for me of freedom to be. I wear it round my neck as a promise to myself, that I will sing my soul across this country like the Aborigines of Australia. I will leave no trace but my songline, etched across the course of time and this ragged earth.