
"Self-Made"
Updated Tuesday, May 12, 2009, at 6:48 AM ETClick the arrow on the audio player to hear Jeffrey Skinner read this poem. You can also download the recording or subscribe to Slate's Poetry Podcast on iTunes.
.
Before puberty I knew the I: Mowgli, Maris,
Boy shadowing Tarzan; Ethnographer of dirt kingdoms;
Scientist of worm and dandelion blow;
Impresario of The Ant & Beetle Circus; witness to twisting deaths
of caterpillar and moth (placed gently in the web
by hand). After puberty I no longer knew who came
and went within this I but knew a woman
was somehow implicated; somehow a woman carried,
beneath her clothes, a major clue.
Everything I had I gave to seeing through that fabric.
I never believed in the social me—loath to speak,
to intrude—though he did what he could.
On clear nights, frost entered my definition, as did
the language I learned at work with men.
When my father died, his self exploded
invisibly. But I felt particles streak through my body.
I am accumulation, lust, barrels of Seagram's,
memory, a few grains only of selflessness. My children
were made, not begotten. They carry my letter
of recommendation in and beneath the skin–proteins, enzymes,
electrolytes. I have offered it all up for renovation
many times with a smirk and crossed fingers, once in earnest.
Every day I am forgotten, a new man.
.
Did the NYT Just Call Joe Biden the Second Most Powerful Vice President Ever?
Meet the TV Genius Behind Jon & Kate, Table for 12, and the Duggars
Does the Health Reform Bill Really Restrict the Rights of Gun Owners?
Don't Fall for Best Buy's Scam To "Optimize" Your New Macintosh
Would Sen. Obama Approve of President Obama's Afghanistan Plan?
How Roald Dahl's Stories for Children Eclipsed His Fiction for Adults











