had me tripping over myself as
a child. Trying to balance this body
was like standing on a teeter-
totter. I could float on my back

like an otter. Just don't ask me
to stand. My legs were rubber
bands. As I grew my legs bent
outward. So, a train could run through

them. I was not plumb. I was
uneven. When I met him
my legs became tree trunks,
growing roots under the ground. I

could not move. He cut me down.
I was not limber. So, I built my house
from timber. From all that fallen wood
stood my home, on sunset hill.