I can’t walk on water like Jesus
But I can skip down the riverwalk
And as I do,
I see reflections of me.
Not in the water,
I am not the greek boy
who fell for his own reflection.
I see a family against the rails
eyes caught in the reflection
of the water and the bank,
eager to share their beautiful findings
with one another.
We both believe that beauty
is meant to be shared.
I sit and share a bench with a homeless man.
It is not me, but I am also homeless.
No home to call my own,
and the home I had was made of straw.
A few huffs and puffs later,
the house blew away.
I give him a few dollars,
“That’s all I can afford to give,
I need to be more selfish,”
I say, epiphany forming in my mouth
which feels like the sun on my face.
Sometimes the truth is warm and radiant.
I pass joy,
a group older than me,
radiating,
music blaring with the beat against
the beating of the bank,
and one lone dancer.
She could be the river,
flowing effortlessly
and a crowd forming around her,
as if they came here for her all along.
A smile floods my face against the bank
of my dimples,
for I am also a
Lone Dancer.
Two birds sit perched,
forming the painted picture of one of my
tarot cards.
They realize they’ve failed
and I’ve detected their
plagiarized art,
and they fly away in embarrassment.
As I sit in my self-proclaimed nook,
a rolling stone resting on sturdy rock,
off the beaten trail where the foundation
has ended and runneth over,
an even more profound epiphany washes up
in the reflection of my mind.
I have two determined feet,
(and not two left)
and I cannot be more right when I say:
I have a home
in the sun
here on Earth,
sharing beauty
and dancing unapologetically,
mocking works of art,
molding this path
into whatever I goddamn please,
settling into nooks without my name on it,
but knowing,
that I have a place here.