In twenty six, I found some way to resew my life. I needed little more than what I could carry because, at a time, that was the only option. I made all that I have out of fragments of things I’d stowed and toted through decades. I stepped into the persona I spent years trying to fashion. By the end, I assumed a trajectory that was full to the edges with my new brand of aspiration. I grew accustomed to the toil, I fed from the need for survival. Maybe in twenty seven, I find some place for myself in peace.