I Poet

I

I came out of the canal listening

for my own voice

with my first breath

I heard it as a cry

I found darkness in my eyes

til opened to the light

I was that baby you wanted to be boy

I was made girl

all parts of me to receive touch

to open

to flower

 

II

Listening for my own voice

it navigated out of my thoughts

my mind spoke a product of time

of culture of possibilities

of bouquets gathered in spring

it was good to be who I am

 

III

Now the voice knows its own cry

weeps into the light and dark

listens with belladonna ears

what hallucinations will arise

I Poet