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.