“I found myself” is such
an odd statement. How did I
lose myself? How, actually,
is it possible to lose oneself?
Did I run away, through the hills
and up the mountains, slipping
on stones and fighting
those goats with horns (rams?)?
Did I
jump, into the ocean
and paddle with chubby arms,
against hard waves that pushed
and pulled and tugged?
I must have called
the police after twenty
four hours; I must have worried
quite a bit! After all,
I must have hung there
in the air, confused, for was I
not invisible? I imagine I
held a sign – Looking For My Body!
Reward If Found!
I would not have given myself
the time of day, or spared
a dollar, if I even had one to spare
in my poor missing pants. Did I tell my
parents, calling them up
and crying on the phone,
repeating, “I lost myself,”
over and over,
over and over,
until it was déjà vu even for
me?
until it was déjà vu even for
me?
I would for sure have been sent,
kicking and flailing missing legs
and arms, to the psyche ward!
And yet, here I sit in the library,
listening to the attempt at quiet
and adding the sounds of my keyboard
to the melee, so I must not
have lost myself. I must
have lost something else.