I never acquired the taste.
No matter how I nibbled at the
refined samplings that life
serves at random intervals
(for those not born with finery
woven in our locks of hair)
I’ve never become attached to

I’ve sipped cheap champagne
from a tumbler
in the ripped up seats of
the dollar theater
after sneaking into a second
and third
because champagne feels
so decadent
but rebelliousness
tastes so much sweeter.

I know how luxury is supposed to feel,
smooth silk against the skin
luscious beauty at polished fingertips.
but my nails are chipped and bitten
with the remnants of a 4-month old manicure
spotting the nail.

Because I understand the deliciousness
of having someone massage your cells
deeply, pressing your stress out your pores
while they decorate you in exquisite colors.
but I dig my bare hands
in fresh potting soil
eager to cover my new plant-
plucked from a friends yard-
into good earth.
Dirt under the nails
reminds me of where I’ve been.

I envy those who seat themselves on the lap of luxury
and find comfort there

It feels foreign to me.

You’ll find me
with a stray grain of rice
in my ear
flour in my hair
and my clothes may have
droplet stains of wine,
spatters of mud,
and grains of sand.

Because perhaps wild things
can’t have luxury, and eat it too.