I wasn’t born yesterday.
~The Way of Mrs. Cosmopolite, T. Pratchett
I was born years ago in a snowstorm,
butt first, which explains my perspectives:
right is left, north is south, and so on.
There’s something, too, about winter,
blowing snow that blew itself
into my bones. There are things
you won’t understand
until you are so old
that no one alive calls you children.
The patterns, strangeness of passages,
the way the long corridor winds,
edged with fewer doors.