introducing me.

i wish i knew you were beneath my skin.

i had always known my bones did not only

hold me. i told myself they were pillars.

but what did they hold? i told myself they

were trees. but what did they hold? i told

myself my spine was the root of me. that i

carried myself inside its cart. it was the

truth. but it did not have a name. i have

carried mine like my body, giving it away

o i can return to attention like my

mother’s womb. no one held me inside her.

she carried me. but i do not remember her

hands. did she catch me? or was i always

destined to fall from her? cut me off

from herself? did she take the scissors

and tear us apart? we did not have a number.

because in unity we do not need identity.

but i have learned that in solitude

you are given one. one.

i wish i had known you earlier. i would

have given you my name. and i would be

yours. mine. ours. we would be

one.

---

First published in Craccum Magazine.