I won’t do it!

 

I will not write another woman’s poem

any more than I will wear another woman’s face.

 

This is my voice,

my words are my person-hood.

 

Buddha suggests that, in the time before my birth,

I was no one. I merely was.

 

The Watcher-Behind-My-Eyes,

nameless, thoughtless, full of empty

 

but then! I tore screaming into the conscious world

on a spume of blood and light.

 

Since then I have been Sara,

fought for and won,

and this has been my birthright:

 

to say my own words, tell my own story.