Song of a Wanderer by Sasha Dugdale

I am fearless. Fearlessness was seeded in me
In a small flat where all the talk was children's babble
And soft spider replies: doggie, choochoo, baba
And the kitchen clattered and shook with gravy
Boiling over. The bread rose
The meat bubbled in the heat, and crooked spiderfingers
Laid the pastry ring across the seething curd.
I was fearless with wanting to dress my own small body
Walk with long, straight legs down to the street
Before the vegetables, ready mashed and served,
Before the napkin, tucked into my skirt.

But wherever I go I find the same sweet harem
Cloysome to my heart. The same old women and the babies
The same babble. I taste the same smell of meat
From high-up windows. I watch the same old fingers
Kneading bread and see the ancient ring mark on the crust.
And when they ask me, "Why not have a rest?" on some bed
So high and soft and melting, I say, "Yes. I'm really very tired."
And unroll, in a headache of a dream, my limbs
So weary from their walking. Yes, I am captive
To the pie crust and the stove, the women and their talking,
The children's little grip.