12
Maybe I was just born.
Maybe I took my first steps
crawling through the muck
to become titless—
and can this word be mine
when I no longer own
the damn things?
III. At the edge of the clearing
Standing in the field
watching the trees sway
in the forest beyond on the edge
where I stood, the sun caught
the wild lines of the pine needles,
turned them brown
with the threat of fire.
When I was a child
I stood there contemplating God.
My name meant, “He
who is like God.”
How desperately I wanted
then to be a monk. And when
taught I could only be a nun
how quickly my wish
caught flame in the sun.