Un-Named by Lydia K. Valentine

Lydia K. Valentine’s pantoum takes us to the spaces between the spaces.

Un-Named

I keep my ghosts close to know who I am.
Wrapped in their silken shrouds,
I am insulated from your ripe expectations,
from the hopeful allure of life.
Wrapped in their silken shrouds
is where my name hides
from the hopeful. A lure of life?
No; I can’t be spoken into being.
Is where my name hides
your concern? It doesn’t fit in your mouth.
No. I can’t be spoken into being.
I’m the wrong shape, out of context.
Your concern? It doesn’t fit. In your mouth,
the truth is my erasure. It began with their end.
I’m the wrong shape, out of context.
Daughter will not translate to orphan.
The truth is: my erasure? It began with their end.
You think you can see, hear, touch me?
Daughter will not translate to orphan,
so I have no meaning in this tongue.
You think you can see. Here, touch me.
I am insulated from your ripe expectations,
so I have no meaning in this tongue.
I keep my ghosts close to know who I am.

Photo: Jeffrey

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Lydia K. Valentine is a poet, educator, activist and mom who lives in the Pacific Northwest where she has a happy home full of people, pets, books and laughter. She is taking a sabbatical from teaching middle and high school English to complete her MFA and to focus on her writing and causes like “Washington Won’t Discriminate.”