I have never once been myself
I can not place it among
all the things I have become so effortless at being
The bent tree with its raucous breathing
lost in a cult of limbs dressed to the nines
The first ice cream cone I ever ate
that melted onto my hair and between my toes
sticky rapture
I am the stories my sister wrote,
read from her journal in secret with heart pounding
The woman in broken flip flops
walking out of the motel who
my daddy told me was a lady of the night
it sounded very pretty
but he must have had it wrong
for it was daytime
and she was still
a lady

I have never once been myself
I can not place it among
ice cream and ladies under silver crescent lights
weary branches, breathless diary pages
I have been
all the things I have become.