the southern wind has kicked in
and by the sound of the creaks and groans
coming from the walls and windows,
it is trying its damnedest to be the big
bad wolf to my little stick house.
windchimes jangle wildly, flailing
themselves against the early spring front.
trees, newly blossomed, affronted by the tearing
away of their petals, bend and sway,
bowing into the wild air.
all the while, within the gale, I sit
still as the eye of a hurricane,
and the transmutation of flight.
‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet’
A nice lady at Social Security called
saying that there was a problem
with my name.
What was my legal name?
I began to give her all the options
that it possibly could be-
married, maiden, middle-
puzzle pieces to put in different order-
What is my name?
How many names have I had in my life:
daughter, sister, friend, wife,
employee, goof off,
maker of sandwiches and beds,
counter of numbers,
lister of lists,
nagger and necessary evil,
writer of words, poet of no renown,
sewer of buttons, holder of hands,
weeper of tears,
friend to angels