It Is No Good

It is no good.
Right foot is leaning on green,
left knuckles propped on yellow,
right hand pressed to the red circle,
left leg straddling the blue Atlantic.

It is no good.
The body will split like the continents,
right foot will stay stuck in the marsh,
the left will navigate the slipstream,
right hand will tear away from the arm
and stitch its fingers into the fold of Asia.

It is no good.
Setting alarms to match three time zones,
varying your diet to match each mindset.
It is why you always have to escape:
a year here gone, next year there then gone.

Your children will gorge themselves on resentment,
when they stand new, toes pointing together
introduced to classrooms in Urdu, British, Viet.
Your husband will tie you to the bed in your sleep.

It is why you work in jobs where the people shift.
The influx, outflow of Colleges, Schools, Universities,
tricks your feet into thinking that everything is different.

The sea you look at, the stream you lived by, tricks you
into believing that you could get the ready-when-you-are
backpack from the attic, and wash yourself out through the sink.