cartography
My brain is a cartography.
I could tell you a story.
I could name names,
show you histories,
point to all the culprits.
I could do that.
I have those lists.
But what if instead
I remembered
the way light held on
to the river rocks
three blocks from my house
or how geese
my last autumn in Nebraska
gathered and settled
like ritual
in a cold field.
I could follow the rivers
where I grew up
the way a child’s drawing
follows the lightning
in that early mind.
Suddenly a map appears.
Suddenly a world.
As fresh and impending
as the pre-dawn sky.
This happens
each time I learn a place,
each time I know
its rhythms of traffic and birds,
sun between barns,
neon food shops.
I catch my reflection
in a store window,
never sure what I’ll see
but something stays familiar
even in Boston or Osaka
or Vienna or Chicago,
like the rough language
of my face
is the key to reading
the inner country
I bring with me
wherever I go.
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: they/she/he: ritual to forget your (un)becoming by dezireé a. brown - October 23, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: they/she/he: ritual to forget your (un)becoming by dezireé a. brown - October 22, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: they/she/he: ritual to forget your (un)becoming by dezireé a. brown - October 21, 2026



