Mustard Tree

I was born two-named, two-legged,

Right and left,

Two-storied, double-clanned.

Narrow-road brethren seeded loose-wheeled lightfoots

And, in the way of things,

Her name surrendered

Proud and ashamed of the good trade that took place,

And ran away, to the tall trees.

The righteous won, pinched, proper, civic, good people, hard and strong,

And the men ministered their consent

Praying hard, well-meant,

Against the forgiving cussedness,

The golden, the female, the warm and feckless.

Two different glories, neither shining.

So I unpray that guillotining prayer

And welcome back my other timid name

To the fire,

Where we will speak of other stories, other people,

My left leg sound

And pounding the ground with a belonging beat.