A Name For Me

This table:

a flat surface

four legs

standing.

Holding the baggage I bring.

Shades of gray

streak the surface.

I sit, with a pin,

trying to write something different.

Trying to bring the colors back—

it fails,

I am sucked back in

to the memories.

 

And so I write a name—Jacob

my real name

and try to find myself

in the foreign lines

of those letters

J-A-C-O-B.

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