When I was a child, they called me a fish. I swam like a mermaid, I did handstands in the surf. I caught lizards and wore them as earrings. I made movies and songs and rode bikes with my feet on the handles. When I was four-years-old, my parents lost me in a department store; when they found me, I was wearing roller skates.
I spend long hours plotting my escape. Bus routes and hostels, money under tables. I make lists of new names I might not mind being called. I am a little scout ant and I have been all my life. I want to see where the horizon ends. I want to come back and tell you.
I don’t want an air-conditioned life. I don’t want to be safe and sound. I am not soft and lily white; I am strong and swift and full of brave. I am a quick little fish with lizards on my ears. When you find me, I’ll be wearing roller skates.