She has lived in four different zipcodes in the last four years,
her car has travelled six-thousand miles in the last 60 days.
The blueberries at the store are too sweet for cream like at home
and she doesn’t know how she can feel so goddamn transient
when she still remembers picking plums from her father’s shoulders.
When people start to fall for her, she counts the number of times
they get the word “love” caught in the back of their throat,
tries to ignore the times that she says “home” the same way.