by R.B. Simon
before my name, I was a live thing
with no way to be called
away from myself.
a promise, unmouthed,
brown as uncarved oak
and as feral,
unscarred,
loose as a winging crane.
I was a live thing, before my name.
once named, I am called,
beckoned into blackness,
constructed, conquered.
the old ones believed
in the magic of a name,
to know one was to command the soul
but the old ones are fewer,
stripped away from us,
vanquished across history’s turbid ocean
and we have forgotten the art
of protecting what is most
elemental of ourselves
before my name, I was a live thing.
now, I am unfanned ember
interred in ash, cooling back into earth,
dust to dust.
R.B. Simon (she/her) is a queer, black, disabled writer who has been published in pacificREVIEW, The Coop Poetry Collective, Strange Horizons, Literary Mama, Obsidian, and CALYX, among others. Her first full-length collection, Not Just the Fire, was released in March 2023 from Cornerstone Press. In her free time, she enjoys creating visual art, napping, and coffee-flavored caffeine. She is currently living in Madison, WI with her spouse and two-month-old daughter. Learn more at www.rb-simon.squarespace.com.
Emerge Literary Journal 