sometimes i look inwards
(because it seems like the thing to do)
i see i am made of
wrapping paper
chicken bone
grape leaves
and bits of old fencing
held together by twine

so many people have a self of their very own
a real self made of person-things
courage and sorrow
hunger and anger
i want to ask any stranger
how did you come by yours exactly?

i remember
you couldn't play
or talk
or read
and you died when we were nine
maybe you borrowed the self i had
because you needed it more
do you have it
in a mason jar
on a shelf in the pantry
well-used and well-loved

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