When you decided to reinvent yourself, this wasn’t quite where you were aiming.
You forgot to calculate angles, bank shot spiraling intersecting rings. People laugh: what luck, I wish I had your problem. As if the flint-quick change is absolute, and you don’t still pick up the wrong sized shirt, habit and muscle memory lacquered in before. No one told you how lonely it was, a closet full of new clothes. That you will miss a shirt worn thin when it is time to find a new place, plant yourself like a tree, call it home. How your former body is a flannel ghost, hidden among your other shirts.
Sometimes, this body is a house with too many rooms.
