Anonymous Till6 October 2016
accents mark me
like a childhood scar
a secret birthmark
the mole three finger spaces from my left eye –
the very same I use to trace the sky,
the stars, and a stranger’s lie,
do you name your nature’s wealth?
or does it only have meaning in sickness and in health?
my feet drip, watering flowers,
my head dips in the lemony scent of breeze
sandy dust caught in braids and sneeze
showering the gravel
soft and padded with yesterday’s rain.
I feel the waves pass by and
shake me: violent, endearing and subdued,
all kinds of shades, shapes and shores
do you name water?
or does it only have meaning in drinks and sinks?
I hold the strings to my heart.
It is but a puppet, listless with genes,
furiously beating me into being –
I am tourist of my own skin.
Clouded in the vestiges of freedom,
how am I supposed to wear them
how am I supposed to pretend I like them – it – her? – him? –
do you name your skin?
or does it only have meaning in retrospect and poetry?