without a roof tanka sequence

without a roof

I’ve never given

great thought to the “I”

of my soul  

whether it’s a blade of grass

or a gathering of acorns in the park

twenty autumns ago

before a suicide attempt—

I see my body

as it is now, torn and aching

like the hem of my jeans

regret

is not slanted, it is my own 

construction

the home I built

the house I chose