When I was a little girl, my mother would take me for walks not far from
where we lived, but as a child the walks felt far.
Mother sometimes asked me to stop. She’d say, “Now turn around and look where you are, look in every direction.” She said this was how I could
know where I am and how I could find my way back.
Starting out, we carry visions of grandeur of mountains… of the sea… of temples… of horizons where God has stored the memories of our gardens.
But then what we often find is water or just another road.
That’s what people don’t talk about when they talk about places or travel.
They don’t mention that between all the mountains and seas and temples is a long time coming.
I have tried to look at the scars on my body,
as though they are lines on a map.
The cicatrix on my foot crosses a desert.
The mar between my fingers is where a river splits a canyon.
The marks on my side are a configuration of shoals.
I have tried…
