My Body

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When I stepped ashore in this body I was recognized at once and given a name.

My bones were smaller, but the shape of the cheek and the chin are the same.

This is the only body I know: this color my eyes, this color my skin.
Every scar is mine.

I have become as tall, as slim, as old as I am. My voice has carried the weight of what I had to say.

Words were scattered along the way: words on gravel roads, in hallways and staircases.
Words on a wire.

Somewhere in a field, my hair. Somewhere in a lake, my skin, some rooftop where my gaze rested, some star, a wish.

This is my address on earth: temporary, fragile, a name in the phonebook, at the moment, alive.

                           - Joyce Sutphen