Years do odd things to identity.
What does it mean to say
I am that child in the photograph
at Kishamish in 1935?
Might as well say I am the shadow
of a leaf of the acacia tree
felled seventy years ago
moving on the page the child reads.
Might as well say I am the words she read
or the words I wrote in other years,
flicker of shade and sunlight
as the wind moves through the leaves.
This poem can be found in the volume, So Far So Good.
Think about how the poem made you feel. Have you looked back at old photographs of yourself and found it hard to remember life through those eyes. Yet as you get older, perhaps you still feel younger than you look?
May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you again tomorrow.