clothes spilling from
an overpacked suitcase
sleeping bags unfurled
on the floors of my familiars
writing binges and coffee sprees
quiet times and dance-filled nights
a city at once comfortable
and ever surprising, ever delightful
where i can walk through
a menagerie of my history
remembering how i clawed
and scraped for a time
thinking of how i now
saunter in and out
a cat who knows
where the cream is plentiful
who is still (perhaps greedily)
on the search for more
narinda heng 