“If my engine works perfect on empty/ I guess I’ll drive.”
~Noah Kahan, Growing Sideways

When first we are set in motion, 
we are taught to mind the lines,
to aim our feet, crayon, bowling ball, bike, or car
straight ahead, find our balance,
focus on a single point on the horizon.

We lean on hands to steady our wobbly body,
avoid outlines, gutter rails, training wheels, lane lines
those boundaries that were placed
to keep us safely contained.

Singers internalize the melody
before we trill a run or meld a harmony,
the lyric preceeds the scat,
notes composed before those improvised.

And now we are expected
to just live out here
with a beating heart in a body
and a brain of our own
we don’t always know how to nourish,
responding to its experiences?

Who thought it was safe
to hand over the keys to us,
unattended by wiser elders,
with nothing made of steel
to keep us from sailing off a cliff
on a sharp turn we never saw coming?