Poem of the Week

~ Minnie Bruce Pratt ~

I am —

perhaps unfortunate

in that the separation of myself

from the ‘who I am’

in faith remains

impossible

despite the distance of time.

I am —

despite the desire to divorce myself

from my family, tradition and rules,

to break out and be

my own man.

I am —

despite my excuses

of ‘I used to be,’

‘formerly was,’

‘grew up as.’

I am —

breathe….breathe….whisper

“Mennonite.”

WAS!

Still

my history bleeds

through this heart

pumpa, pumpa, pumpa.

I cannot escape

and if I could…

If I could sharpen these finger nails,

aim them at my left breast,

then plunge them,

pierce this flesh,

splaying these incarcerating ribs apart,

then, in wrapping my fingers around ‘it,’

yank,

where would I be without my heart?

Who would I be?

How long would I live?

Bleed?

Pumpa, pumpa, pump—a.

I am incapable of forgetting who I am.

I cannot be

who I am not.

I am —

despite the electronic current coursing through my house,

despite the lack of a buggy in my barn,

despite my head unadorned by a black hat and beard,

I am —

the product of 15 generations

of pacifist culture.

I am Mennonite.

I am who I am.