I had a daughter once whom I scolded beyond repair.
She left her name with me and found another one.
She left a pile of clothes and the ringing satisfaction
that deafens beasts with rounded ears
and sets smoldering fires in the walls.
It was an act of such perfection I could be proud of it
and even glad to have back the name, Dorothy, gift of God.
Don’t trust people who tell these stories on themselves
but in your distrust study their tells and consider
how much of your own story is fit to inhabit.
Photo by Sarah Rifaat on flickr
