Identity

Identity

How do you define yourself? he asked

My silence met his, then stretched across miles.

Was he aware that the question was bigger than

All of the answers a heart could hold?

A mother? he prompted.

Certainly. Yes.

I’ve felt my body stretch to bear the weight of another.

Held her safe in an ocean’s protection and

Felt her foot draw an arc across her sky.

But also

A sister, a daughter

An aunt, a niece.

And how do you name what you are to those

who are family by heart, but not by blood?

A writer? He suggested.

Certainly. Yes.

I’ve felt my mind stretch to hold the weight of my words.

Held the syllables steady while I chased the meaning

Felt the gentle release when the rhythm was found.

But also

An artist, an athlete

A warrior, a scholar.

And how do you name what you are to those

passions that are still searching for their muse?

A lover? He wondered.

Certainly. Yes.

I’ve felt myself open to take the weight of another.

Held him close, pressed my ear to his heart, and

Felt his hands burn the flesh on my back.

But also

A friend, a companion

A confidant, an advisor.

And how do you name what you are to those

who are part of your past but still part of your whole?

I felt myself grow weary of his questions.

And told him that I don’t have to name what I am.

Instead I choose to define myself by

The collection of moments that have left me breathless.

With passion, with pain

With love, with fear

With wonder, with awe

With anger, with forgiveness

With triumph, with defeat.

I’ll wrap them up neatly within my own name.

And dangle them around my neck, close to my heart.