Native

I’m a stranger here.
The cut of my hair,
Wash of my jeans,
Logo on my shirt,
Betray my origins.
The natives stare,
Puzzling over me,
The curious invader.
I glance sideways
Returning fascination.
What are they doing here?
What am I doing here?
Aren’t we doing the same?
We wander together,
Haphazard, confident,
Here along the banks
Of Last Chance Gulch.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “BOOK X: Our Old Feuillage”)