Returned from burying the grandmother that raised me last week and find myself wanting nothing more than cleaning out and organizing things- which works well since I need to get my taxes done anyway.
I found this poem I'd written a couple of years ago near the bottom of the oldest pile. It addresses so many things that so many of us confront as we approach and enter through those portals and rites of passage...
"but my name is Freeman," i told him, "and i'm an american."
my name ties me to my mother and her dreams
my name ties me to my country and its dreams
though it took me decades and continents to accept it
it is a name that feels light said
but is long & cumbersome written
we are naturally an oral culture
that's how people
it waited for me
while i chased my affection
for the starkness
ink on the page
while i rushed after my desire
for the height
from the tower
waited for me
of what has always been mine.