I am a word painter.
I carve sentences
out of soapstone
and run my hand over them
until they are smooth.

I am a balloon woman.
Many colorful balloons
follow me
I can choose which idea
which plan
or which person to see
at whim.

Easily I can let one balloon float away,
and I can let the air out.
I would like to be a squirrel
easily running up and down tree trunks.

I am a gold panner.
Finding gold nuggets of poetry
in people who thought
there weren't any.

I am a poet
words are my craft.
Like a blacksmith,
I hammer and hammer away
until the lines fit.
Into the furnace of my mind
they go,
and out into the cool
onto the metal working space.

Sometimes I'm a glass blower,
the fire of my feelings
forging shapes and forms.
Sometimes I'm a smiling,
toothless, six year-old
with pigtails, saucer eyes and a big smile.

Sometimes I'm an adolescent
moody
wondering.
Who am I?
Who am I?
I am the question
not the answer.