by Carmen H Gray
When, then, did I begin?
Was it in the darkest peak of that death?
Or was it when I found that opening?
A deep and hollow gash
The natural result of an unforeseeable crash?
I do not come with a timeline
Or a rolodex of recipes
Neatly filed and perfectly spaced
No, that is not how I was placed
I saw myself at the start of that curve
And then again at the baker’s dozen glance
Turning once more at thirty four, a dance
Of four gilded edges forging
Like what we see in the night skies
The spiral galaxies that radiate
The cells within us that communicate
I am you and you are me
We relive each moment’s mystery