Mnemosyne
There are not many things in life
that have linked me to this world.
I fell out of my mother like a pound of potatoes;
love, a burlap bag.
I crawled through childhood,
hid behind skirts on a mannequin,
hid behind door jambs, in dark closets.
I have known so few, but those whom I do are buoys
balanced in the throes of surf and sink;
starts and drops into deep, deep swells
that have carried me along to desert sand.
I have enough water to walk across desperate time
in need of nothing more than Mnemosyne.