I Do Not Remember My Own Name

By Valerie Wetlaufer

so whenever I hear a voice calling,
I turn my head.

Unmake the bed
open the window

When I returned from Paris
burning behind me

I selected a single letter
to tattoo upon my chest.

In the wind, my name sounds like a vowel.
Everyone keeps asking what the baby will call me.

I find myself worrying about my nipples,
how their textures will change.

It does not take long to recite the list of names
of those who stay in touch.

I’m losing language in my sleep.
I open my mouth, and words are plucked

from my tongue. Before I was broken,
I planned to inherit the garden.

A guitar, dice, the scent of pipe smoke.
We folded our legs beneath our dresses

and perched on the grass delicately.
Back in the days when we knew our own names.

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad x
Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
Subscribe To: State Of The Arts Magazine
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!
Subscribe To: State Of The Arts Magazine
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!