Thank you for not judging g promise in me,
for not taking your cues from me,
seeing the miserable, lonely wretch I knew.
Thank you for seeing me in terms of weight,
dress size, for the dangling flap below my arms,
the thighs that rubbed together causing friction burns.
Thanks for liking my giggle when it bubbled out
betraying efforts to be dignified, respectable.
for saying i had a nice smile, a pretty face —
that bus station attendant couldn’t have known
sixty years later what that still means.
Thank you for affirming me all that time
when I could not. Thank you for keeping my mind
fertile enough to understand I did have merit.
Thank you for believing in me until I came home
to OA and could accept that journey was complete.