When do you feel overlooked?
When do you feel undervalued?

When do you feel like one of a crowd –
and are just fine with that?

What does it feel like to fly?
What does the air taste like up there over the city?
What do you hear from there?

On the piazza, when the world moves so slowly in front of your eyes
what do you notice most? What is everyone else missing
as they rush by – self-important with their takeaway coffees
and bags of half-eaten bread?

Where do you hide your babies?
What advice do you give them before they
flutter around the old woman throwing dried peas
over the trampled grass?

Coffee or Tea?
City Mouse or Country Mouse?
Autumn or Spring?
On what do you base your preferences?
On which preferences do you base your identity?

Fold up all your favorites, pack them into a steamer trunk, and send it overseas.
A slow boat… to where?

Write each of them a letter of longing: a love letter. A letter of letting-go:

Dear John, my dogged-eared dictionary…
My beloved Jane, deep-green woolen shawl…

How does it feel to be as un-anchored as the ship that has carried everything away?
How does it feel to walk on solid ground with your arms free, your back unbowed from the weight of all that you’d gathered?

Are you ambivalent in the face of these losses?

What do the voices of your love/hates say to you? Do to you?

And how do you soothe them?

Which pose to do take to breathe freely?