With morning,
I wake feeling as if
I have been rattling around
in someone else’s house all night.

Their family smell
clings to my hair and
cloaks me through the
first hours of my day.

Every family has a scent,
the mingling of
washing powders and jobs
and tasks and the same meals
on endless repeat,
that marks them each
with their tribal signature
so they may find their way home again.

I am a night traveler.

Waking unsettled,
I am sick with the feeling
of reeling and spinning.
there is a longing to be home
but I am not sure which is mine,
and a fear of what was lost,
but I am not sure which is mine.