This Time Next Year
I will snap my driver’s license in two and try to forget where it came from. I won’t smile in my next photo. I will stop being palatable to the apparatus of the state and adopt a new state to tell myself I’m safe in this body. My hands are still sticky with honey drawn in the shape of the Battle of San Jacinto on a biscuit in 2005. I will wash them off in the Rio Grande and leave my footprints among the ancient snakes and fossils and someone might remember I was never supposed to be here in the first place. This time next year I will head …