Tonight's Poet Corner: I'm Real

I'm Real
by Belinda Roddie

I am sewn from the sinew threads of
sunken canoes and the fibers of aged
potatoes in an abandoned field that was once
a fountain of youth. I am a quilt stitched
onto old skin, patched and repatched over
generations, until I was more scarecrow
than human being. And yet, I watch those

bastard crows circle the crops like their
kingdom is under attack, when it is my
world they are invading, the personal acre
of my psychology tucked into a thatch of hay stuck
on the left side of my remaining shards of brain.

I am brass buttons and silver trim and
rotten fruit tucked into sagging pockets. I am
half-eaten away by the elements of both the tide
and time. Somewhere, the nearby river flows again
after the weight of a drought's tantrum has finally
subsided, and when the flood surges, it will rip
me from my wooden monolith and wash the scraps

of artificiality that has been glued, taped, knotted,
and sketched upon my flesh throughout
thousands of stubborn, unyielding years.