The year is nascent still, a foal
  fresh from another body
    learning its own. The temperature
flirts with the vague idea
  of zero. I’m being rezoned. There’s a new
    map drawn in my mind. I take a breath,
then roll call under that. I say
  Fishtown, Nicetown, Germantown Ave,
    Gayborhood
to keep my jaw warm.
I say jaw warm until my mother
  tongue is dumb, becomes another
    part of the unfamiliar. This New Year’s Eve
I took some risks, small though
  they may have been. I painted my nails
    to reward Sephora’s winner of ten thousand dollars’
worth of polish. (They named it “That’s Just Gret-
  chen” after her—what a disaster.) I glued a white feather
    to the center of a mask, wrapped
a boa ‘round my neck, ducked
  out, having other people to see.
    In South Philly, I passed a woman
ascending her stairs who stopped
  and said Well Happy New Year, Darlin!
    with equal parts warmth and worry,
as if I were one of her own,
  as if I must be someone else
    moving forward.