Terrior

I thought of cutting my limbs

to see the rings of my age

for proof that the weight I feel

is of many lifetimes beyond the one I know.

I wanted to see the fire of wars

and drought of my seasons

scarred in fibrous circles

surrounding my bones,

plotting a history of moments

made of breath and growth

in a thick skin.

I thought of peeling back my layers

to see the scaffolding of my ancestors

around which my form is molded.

I wanted to find each face of my origin

become more evident

as I slough translucence

from the surface where I finally find

the first one of us within me,

hair darker and yes wider

than my diluted image.

I thought of drinking by blood

to taste the sun-dried soil fed through my veins

from earth I never touched but crave

to sift through my fingers

I wanted to detect hints

of residual pencil shavings and tobacco

from writers and smokers of my bloodline

that are concentrated in me

and seem to linger like the finish on a Cabernet