Picking Up A White Feather At Valbonne Poem by Justine Camacho Tajonera

I've sloughed off parts of myself on
this trip:
two shirts in Saint Paul du Roule
a pair of boots in Nice
and maybe a raincoat or a
sweater in Florence?
My aunt asks if I see Europe
as one big 'les poubelles.'
No, its only peeling
myself to an
indestructible core,
that part that can live
anywhere
and be satisfied,
that part that no
sun or wind
can defeat,
that part that knows
always
what to take
and what
to leave
behind.