Big Bold Fine

She approaches well being as she might an embattled country that she hasn't seen before - full of curiosity and dread  -  sensing that whatever good can be found there will be foiled by what comes next, but going anyway, because.

She congratulates herself on approaching the sense of calm, on looking for it even though she doesn't speak the language and has never been able to stomach contentedness. She gives herself small cheers for this - hurray! She says, and laughs at herself.

She dances down the street, holding her daughter's hand. The child loves her. There is no complexity in this, no trick. The child loves the furniture on the porch, and the dog, and the muffin she had for breakfast. They hold hands easily, and she feels grace.

She tells the boy in the park to take his hands off of the girl who is moaning and holding her stomach. He is kissing his girlfriend over the back of the bent girl. He is grabbing her. "Go Home," She tells the boy. And when he tilts his head like a confused dog, she says, "I don't like this game. Go home." She is quiet and powerful.

She holds an old woman's elbow and lifts her out of her seat at the bus stop. She kisses her child's forehead. She places her hand on the small of her husband's back. She makes an adequate meal. She smiles to a stranger who responds with a small, relieved grin.

She feels alive and blessed. She is a visitor to this place. She'd like to stay. To learn the language and learn the ways of the people who manage to stay here. If she stays, she promises to send postcards back....

And she begins packing.