inner limits

I was made a decade later (like most girlfriends, I hear).
My rockhouse (worn with new furniture) still stands yet
I am a stranger there. There is no room service. My room
Now belongs to guests. I am no guest. I guess
I cannot measure myself with habitat.

I arrived on time, to the day (I'm told) and on that day
My brother planted a tree out front. Taller than the neighborhood,
I found comfort in the height (my true place in the sky?)
Last week I found a pile of sawdust in its place. I guess
I cannot measure myself with nature.

I grew outside of my own skin, and searched for my face
In the child's den of imagination (sheets on chairs make Kenyan huts)
When no one had implanted my Anglo wall. I learned about
Inflexible features the hardest way I could. I guess
I cannot measure myself with exterior.

I let my spirit soar. It has not returned yet
So I wait for it in cigarette swirls. I like the way
They dance on sunlight. They say five minutes of me
Has gone up in smoke. I am supposed to care. I guess,
I cannot measure myself.
~la haba lima