This birthed body
Put upon the library self.
Fiction or non-
The perpetual, rhetorical question.
They selected me
From the self-help section.
Checked me out –
the librarian peering over the rim of rosary-red glasses.
The first few chapters read.
A closer study needed, so rules were broken by
Highlighter pens and
Scribbled margins.
Later, all together lost under
Piles of papers to grade and
Petitions to sign.
Birthday cake smudges.
Menstrual blood and tears.
Empty spaces erased the final chapters.
Decades later,
Self is found in the transformation to Body;
Loose binding
Wrinkled pages
Round belly
Achy hips
Hair loss
Loss I can manage because I already have.
Photo by Cristina Gottardi on Unsplash
Hokis | Poetry 