This entry is part 4 of 19 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2015


I never checked the boxes.
Or I checked them all.


Mountain and valley fold.
The creases deep and sharp as blades.


I am all my names. And something more.
Perhaps that’s what is meant by Becoming.


The sales clerk said, helpfully: Sometimes
the size is different depending on the maker.


The lizard sheds the tail
that has been caught in the closing door.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← If poetry is the shadowRunic →

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