Je Suis Cecil

By Mary Lowell

I am Cecil from whom you turn aside
when my insides are taken out,
not as yours when you came forth
on your own clock timed to stars
for your appearance – once upon a time
you have no memory of – carefully kept
exact as you were inside a careful world
carefully prepared for your summons
to this one, roaring with outrage at sudden
light and unfamiliar touch of the one
most familiar whom you had not yet touched
outside the anteroom she prepared
for your entrance. I am Cecil, not
a nameless cache of liver, lungs
and limbs dismembered before
the memory of me comes forth.