Letters p III

I wrote every name I have been called on a list
And could not find myself there

I imagined all the places that I have laid my roots 

I examined every fingerprint on the surface of my heart 

And every excess of scar tissue within its folds

I placed on the table, every possession
Souvenir and gift I have been given

I organized a calendar of every important date in my life

I catalogued each disappointment and triumph

I reread every poem I ever wrote

And still, I could not point and say

That
Right there
Is me. 

So exactly where am I? 

If not in these relics and nostalgic anchors

Exactly, who am I?

If not all these memories and emotions

And why am I?

If not to feel this way and ask such questions