my gait felt foreign. it felt like people watching blindfolded. creating before feeling. begging without wanting. 

i unsettled myself inside sturdy, stable foot prints. what i really wanted was silky, shaky stones. not the ones for stepping. why i couldn’t find a familiar stride, i cannot say for sure. maybe the newfound freedom in my arms. a simple swing i have not felt in ages. something i would have not thought twice about before becoming a mother.  unaccompanied limbs. phantom children. you would be surprised of its competence. you would be captivated by its capacity. 

i embraced my foreign gait. indulged a little. wondered if it was nothing more than new underwear. and then i walked myself right into that coffee shop. to sit. to drink. to think. . 

three hours later. everyone else was elsewhere. three cups deep i stood with intention. i let my feet percolate with purpose. from my boots to my brains, i tried it all again. 

my gait was neither lost or found. it just was, and i suppose now, it always is. some days are for ending where you began. for circles feeling full. and familiar feeling foreign.