← v15n2, Fall 2016
Poetry · Volume 15, Number 2

Epitaph on a Stone

Like you, I was born underwater.

(I lied: there was never a stone.)

Like you, I was born but that’s not the half of it:

I lived. Lord, I lived. Like a cancer, I crept

sideways. Like a scorpion, I lied. I lived

the way a problem lives, openly, so much

earth wanted me closed. Don’t you know the dead

are not easy? Don’t you know they crave?

I stepped out of the water (I was made doing this) slick-

skinned, fluent, a character: my eyes twice

haunted, my humor, my voice—and can’t you hear

shackles running the length of my voice? I was born

in a minute, in a panic, on a whim. A mistake,

I mean. A choice between this world and a body,

pretty fault where a heart should be.