Poetry by Stephanie Striffler
But I was not unheld when born,
an orphan from hunkered rows
of dingy cribs, wanting
for the rest of time
the lullaby language of skin
whispering to skin.
Nor was I barked and bellowed at
hour after hour
but never on the hour,
until mouths huge as earth movers
threatened to devour me
in my dreams.
And I wasn’t told a pretty story
by my older brother,
teacher, priest,
to make me lose the order
of the alphabet, and startle
at any step on the stair.
Yet all the kites and the bright bright sky
sickened from blue to bruise
and my head filled
with this wordless wind.
Stephanie Striffler is a recently retired public servant, having worked for decades as a lawyer for the people of Oregon at the Oregon Department of Justice. Her work has appeared in publications including CALYX, Timberline Review, Verseweavers, and Persimmon Tree. Stephanie spent her early years in New Mexico and Michigan before choosing Oregon as home. She enjoys birding excursions with her husband and finding new species in their Portland yard.