Overcoming anxiety and fear
to survive in a new place,
in a new language-
I will rise above.
Je peux le faire.

Il y a beaucoup a faire-
mais j'ai beaucoup de temps.
Un pied apres l'autre,
Ca, c'est la facon.
Petit a petit,
on detruie une montagne.
Il y a beaucoup a faire.
Je vais tous faire.

Les feilles commencent a tomber.
C'est l'automne.
Elle embellissent la fleuve
avec leur couleur.
Avec sa brillance,
elles creent une magique,
et je tombe amoureuse.

Les enfants
ils jouent avec la fleuve.
Ils aiment le bruit
quand on jete une pierre,
et vraiment aiment
rouler sur le "petit montange"
qui guarde la monde
de l'eau de la rivere.

Climbing in a plane,
which then climbs into the sky
and I fly-
ripped from earth
and ripped from home.

Who cares that I chose this?
That this is the right path?
I am leaving home
for months.

The last drive in my car,
the last dance
(for a while)
with friends.

A sense of loss
curls in my stomach,
unwelcome.

I will be counting.

Our last smooch was sevenish
On a Monday night-
I let go of his hand
And he pressed his lips to my forehead
At almost eight on a Tuesday morning-

I will be counting
For seven months
Three weeks,
And however many days and hours
It takes me
To hold his hand
And know there will never
Be an ocean between us again.