Thanks to my dear friend Dave Parsons, who alerted me to this poem on this poetry site. Such a welcome and spacious comprehension during these dangerously polarized times when, in the words of another poet, W.B. Yeats: The best lack all conviction/And the worst are full of passionate intensity.
Please Call Me by My True Names
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Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow —
even today I am still arriving.Look deeply: every second I am arriving to be a bud on a Spring branch, to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings, learning to sing in my new nest, to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, to fear and to hope. The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death I am the mayfly metamorphosing I am the frog swimming happily I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, I am the twelve-year-old girl, I am a member of the politburo, My joy is like Spring, so warm Please call me by my true names, Please call me by my true names, 1989 |