Quite

He asked if I knew,
or at least had a sense
again
of who I am
now

Here's the thing:
to find that out
I find I dip backward
like a slow-dance-back-hand-spring

I flash on images-
graveyard poetry
Irish pubs
rooftop renditions of Moondance
cabins in the back woods of Maine
pints and pints of Guinness
one night of tequila and whole lot of dancing

the Barrier Reef
the park by the Eiffel Tower, on a rainy afternoon
acoustic punk music
tattoos and belly rings
labor for days
attacks while working a homeless shelter
seizure disorders, ADD, and autism all shining out of tiny faces
Portable classrooms, handstands and backflips...

and I pause
wonder deeply
why
I always seem to fall back
onto wanting
or trying
to be like someone else.
I am, quite honestly,
quite a lot
all
on
my
own.