Words again: Identity












A child crouches

in a sunlit field.

A fighter pilot’s wife can’t sleep. 

A new mother cannot walk.


I am a whirlpool—

an eddy of identity

where a complexity

of currents meet. 


I am a layer-cake of scars:

Wry neck and fumbly fingers.

Knees marked with gravel.

Nose repelled by the scent of booze.



As the pummeled moon

still glows in our shadow,

I am eclipsed but whole.


I am pleasing to topsoil and stones,

to bears and birds and trees.

I have been released 

by every disappointed god.

One comment on “Words again: Identity

  1. Christine Lee Moore says:

    Wonderful imagery. Pummeled moon. Eclipsed, but whole.

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