transit

pram riding dirty.jpg

July 2017

i dont remember being pushed
in a stroller around manhattan,
or getting lost in transit
at the atlanta airport,
when my parents faced the worst
dread
for fifteen agonising minutes.
 
but i remember returning from america
with a best friend:
a cotton mickey mouse from disneyland
in a red vest and red shorts, and arms
that could embrace me almost
as warmly as my mother. 
i have kept him for twenty-three years.

i will give him to the girl I will marry.
i will give her my mother’s old ring, too. 
i will embrace her
and continue in transit together
in a different america,

while twelve thousand five hundred and eighty kilometres away
i will leave behind
the ones
who pushed me.