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  • Writer's pictureaeraustol


I am yesterday.

I am today.

I am a piece

of chocolate cake

in the slimy mucus

of my belly.

I am a leaning-to-ward.

A desire.

I am hands.


A body accepting.

I am a yellow tang.

A lionfish.

Darting among

A sinking ship.

I am a girl-friend.


I am a mother.

I am the couch beneath me.

A Friday night movie.

I am Gollum

I am the murky lake.

A body submerged.

I am Sam.


I am a garden.

The seeds, raspberries

brown-edged tomato leaves.

A flitting bird.

Landing on splintered fence.

Taking stock.

Beady eyes scan morning wilds.

I am labor.

Three children.

Crying, screaming, running

against the pain.

Against a hard body.

I am the Norwegian winter.

Air that hits me like

a memory I want to own.

To hold in the clutch of my fist

like a toddler with

a rock she found on her

very first trek in the woods.

"I find rock."

She says, swinging arms this way and that.

I am left behind.

I am the orchid I want to send to you.

I am the soil beneath my feet.

I am a teenager in love.

Learning a new language.

I am the airport

between the here and there.

I am a middle-aged woman

Learning to love a new way.

The source from within

Flows out like a river

I am.

A surprise.

A spring that bubbles up from

fractured earth.

I am tears.

I am laughter.

I am feathered hair.

Cut off jeans on a

banana seat bicycle.

I am reciting the states and capitals

I am trembling.

I am a woman

who sips Bourbon

on the rocks.


Who finds -

Goldenrods delightful

on a walk in late fall.

Pulled along by the love

of a dog.

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