(For Stephen)

I have been a murderer
A soldier
A victim of pillage
Over and over, a mother
And a sacred whore

I have known jungles and condors
Been hanged as a witch
Hanged myself in despair
Long skirts trailing down

I’ve designed cities
And burned them
Prayed long years as a nun
And clothed queens in sparkling gowns

I’ve been a scholar, and studied
But I think never before
A writer, who wonders aloud
What it is that keeps dying and living
And wanting to know:

Who am I?