Belonging
I am the Cheese;
standing alone,
in the center of a closed circle.
So ashamed.
I am the one
without a chair,
when the music has stopped.
Lost.
Where do I belong?
To whom, if anyone?
I know…I belong everywhere.
And to everyone.
Because I taught myself how.
But it turned out to be a bad idea,
so much belonging.
I threw it away, midlife.
Switched currents, midstream.
And found I belong to rainy days,
and steaming cups of strong coffee,
typewriters with loose ribbons
and keys missing.
I belong to gardens
that need weeding
and to God,
Who needs nothing.
To children’s laughter,
vintage markets and
the printed page.
I belong to the girl
in the center of the closed circle;
the one standing alone,
without a chair.