Could we take a moment to consider O’Connor,
maybe Welty, or Faulkner too? Where regional
works are absorbed into families, and deformity
is linked to the spirit.
Because that is my own dilemma.
Can I have a club foot, or a disfigured
face, a hand that never lets go?
What would they have said about
my spirit? What would the lesson be?
There is a theme among parable-like stories,
short and long, novels and poems,
and words that sound like home,
every page I turn.
Perhaps I am already grotesque,
and that’s why I relate
so well.
Although, I’ve often felt closer to Chopin’s
characters. To take my clothes off near the beach,
run into the the welcoming waves,
and become so lost in my own awakening
that I drown.
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