Who Am I?

Marion with Chester

Marion with Chester one of her Grandsons

A woman,

a lover of this precious, crumbling world,

my own fleshly world crumbling,

precious, too.

 

An infant born to a mother who adored infants,

who needed an infant

forever;

a too-soon awkward child;

an adolescent struggling toward the salvation of competence;

a wife, certain she knew how she should be,

how he should be,

how everyone should be;

a mother, a perfect mother, a failed mother;

a lesbian starving for food she had never tasted;

a grandmother,

a grandmother,

a grandmother.

All tucked neatly, like nesting dolls,

inside an old woman.

An old woman standing close by the end of her eighth decade.

 

Who am I?

A lone woman,

a fleck of dust in an expanding universe,

a fleck of consciousness

amazed.

 

A gatherer of words.

Words laid out, one by one by one,

seeking . . .

not the eternity of the page.

Paper crumbles, too,

like worlds.

Like my fleshly crumbling world.

I gather a bouquet words,

my past into words,

hold it in this moment,

only this moment

of loss,

joy,

confusion,

wonder.

 

I gather words to say

this,

this,

only this.

 

I am here.

I am.

 

[A piece from my memoir in progress, currently titled  All the Love in this Trembling World:  A Memoir in Verse]

24 thoughts on “Who Am I?

  1. Carrie Johnson

    Lovely. But not “old” as tired, stale, declining, outworn, obsolete. “Old” as durable, well-aged, weathered, tempered. Wise.

    Reply
  2. Carleen M. Tjader

    Oh, Marion, this is beautiful. You choose and place each word in just the right spot! Love the comparison with a nesting doll. I know you have used the “whole” of your life in all your lovely writing.

    Reply

Leave a comment.