Jitter #32

My beautiful husband wrote these outstanding words.

bejitters

Who I Am

I am white,
black, brown,
yellow, red…

But that’s not who I am.

I am male,
female, man,
woman,
yin, yang…

But that’s not who I am.

I am Christian,
Muslim, Jewish,
Buddhist, Taoist,
Hindu, Wiccan,
atheist, agnostic…

But that’s not who I am.

I am straight, gay,
lesbian, somewhere
along the
continuum…

But that’s not who I am.

I am American,
European, Indian,
Asian, Middle Eastern,
a child of the world…

But that’s not who I am.

I’m a lefty, a righty,
a leftist, a rightist,
liberal, conservative,
centrist,
ambidextrous,
bisexual,
queer…

But that’s not who I am.

When you label me,
you marginalize me.

When you see me only
as part of a group,
you diminish me.

When you assume
I act and think and feel
as others like me,
you delude yourself,
because there are no others
like me.

I am unique,
not a…

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Light and Death

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Death’s cloak of souls
waft in soft candlelight’s
smoky illusion.
A mere flicker from orange mouths
is acquiescence
gleaned from smouldering smiles
tilted skyward,
looking inward
for those elusive answers
before their time melts
and soft wax woefully transcends
this columnar life –
all but spent.
Candles snap and flicker
at dusk
lest death should befall us
before twilight’s shoulder
thrusts to assist the burial
of our burdens,
and because we have questions
to ask:
who will light the way now
and lift the veil of sunrise
while the air is thick and suffused
with sour grief?
Why are those precarious guardians
like paper dolls
dancing on our dying embers’
flameless combustion?
And who is it that beckons to us
through candlelight smoke?
Who?