Heartful of Abandonment

You creep out of your mothers womb
like a wastrel and from that second on
fend for yourself. You eat out of waste
paper baskets, drink from stolen aluminum
cans. You choose for your life extrication
over rescue, forsaking all forms
of devotion. You, in your eagerness,
reach out for no one, but a touch
of wind to balance your step
as you go from place to place,
crossing the country in the same
amount of time it takes others to cross
one town. Your spirit moves its
restless limbs whenever you've stayed
too long. How jetsam how flotsam,
perfecting new ways to escape,
inventing new alternatives
for the meaning of home.

Lisa Zaran is a poet and essayist living in Arizona. She has authored five collections, the first of which entitled, the sometimes girl, is currently the focus of a translation course in Germany. When not writing, she works for a brokerage, raises two teenage children and goes to extreme lengths to attend at least one Bob Dylan show per tour, regardless of cost and distance. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Wicked Alice, Winamop, Subtletea, Zygote, Mad Swirl, Feathertale, Rivertrout, Juked, and others.