I found a dollar on the street today and took

the long way home, past the cemetery,

the oldest house in Cambridge,

the Berryline shop, until I was sure I had gone

down the wrong track—past the path

of joggers and bearded homeless mumblers

and families so round they toppled to one

side while they walked, like an overfed, three-legged table—

but Simon’s coffee shop was where Google Maps

had promised, 25 feet from my turning point,

and I knew I could feel my way

without a north-south even though my parents

lost me behind the fridge in Rome

in a temporary studio apartment

that reeked of take-off and take-out and

hesitation.