It was six years after the fact
that I became I
perhaps again, perhaps for the first time.
There was the suggestion
that I should mark each passage
with a commemoration
to what had been lost,
or survived,
words like redemption
but that was never I,
for I have nothing to apologise for
and I’ll take my time.
Simply put,
the days followed the days
and the weeks followed the weeks
and the months the months
and the years the years
until I became I
until I became I.
