Sunday, January 14, 2018
"Who I Was"––poem by Dorothy
Who I Was
Frankly, it is a bit frightening.
To think that everything
each moment,
each intensity,
was merely a phantom
passing before a mirror,
and I
the onlooker took them
for real
and became an actor
in the play.
What became of them?
Those beautiful
bodies turned to dust.
Where did those
episodes go,
secret meetings
in darkness,
joy at sunrise.
Music that tore
the soul open.
Earth sending its blissful
awakenings
into my flesh.
And something major
that came unbidden
and carved a new image
into my blood.
Am I the one
who made them happen?
My calling out,
my desire extending?
My imaginings
already fading
into another twilight,
already becoming
what we must wonder about,
try to grasp the meaning.
Dorothy Walters
January 14, 2018
