Who I was
in the garden alone
in crepe-soled sandals
under a vastness of sky,
running as if from an assailant
as fast as I could up the lawn
under the canopy of the weeping ash,
throwing myself to my knees
at the edge of an empty flowerbed.
Who I was then
going dumbly into the house,
the wound in my knee
gaping and bleeding.
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