Not Myself

Imagine that I found my hat

tucked under the fringe of the sun,

widening bright smile all the while

where it tarried without guile

dancing in the breeze with ease,

peeking shadows darkening its weave,

stories to tell in lurching flashbacks

hidden under beating drum of my heart.

I tilted my hat right to hold sunglow -

now don’t you know – it blew away,

off my head and back to the sun.

And now all I have left of my hat

is purple bruised fingers and

tumbled memories dripping with

butterscotch drops of sunlight -

no sunny hat to hang on my shelf.

Without my chapeau, I’m not myself.