autobiographical autopsy

i am melancholy and music, the fibers and threads of a canvas, hidden beneath the

splash of paint, its focal point

i am power cords and telephone calls and inboxes, spilling over like the waterfalls of  Havasupai

i am shadows in starlight, mysterious like the dawn, most glorious when broken

i am mountaintops and mud, silt beneath my feet, mosquitoes and seaweed and green

i am a briefcase and high heels when i need to be

other times i am bandanas, no makeup, and naked feet

i am a scholar, books and notepads and post-it note scribbles

i am a suitcase, a duffel bag, the lens of a camera

i am Maria with her guitar in the hills that are alive with the sound of music

i am Anne, a misfit in a society of rules and expectations and afternoon tea

i am Thoreau, escaping to the solitude of nature to find myself

i am Jonah, running away from my calling because i think i know my own best

even though i really don’t

i am Esther, standing before the king, though it could be sudden death, and though i stand alone

i am Ruth, and  i, too, am searching for my boaz

i’m fire and fury, i’m a lazy river winding its way through the curve of the earth

i’m a fly entrapped in a spider’s web, writhing and wrestling for my freedom, for my life

i’m a bird leaving the nest for the first time, realizing these wings were crafted for flying

i’m the clay that bends and shifts beneath the firm weight of the Potter’s hand

i am Bethlehem, that the King may be born in me

i am the prodigal, returning with a burden of shame, yet finding myself exalted because of the Father’s grace

i am a shepherd, awed by the splendor of the Most High

i am a wise man, my intellect is of little use or importance at the throne of mercy and love

i am a beggar, sleeping on the streets and praying for relief

i am a camel and the eye of the needle looks ever smaller

i am but a mist

from dust i came, to dust i will return

but within, i carry Life.


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