By Taunja Thomson
I am out with lantern, looking for myself.
–Emily Dickinson
Who am I, out looking for myself
with sun lantern, moon bulb?
At one time, I was a small girl
getting screamed at, pulled aboard
the Caravan of Blame & tied
to the tracks at the same time.
But now I dance in the desert
among marigold/primrose/poppy/
dandelion—I never knew petals
so bright could grow in sand
surrounded by a heat so merciless.
But here they are with wide
lovely faces.
And the rains come & soak me,
a cool deluge, some of which
I savor, gully washer rolling down
my throat, off my tongue—the rest
rushes to fill arroyo & basin.
I never knew I did not have to bear
all the weight.
And so I wander, my skin an alloy
of orange & electric sky, & I drive
my own train as fast as peony blossoms
fall, as slow as July’s meander.
No bags under my eyes, just stars
for irises, sun spangles for sleeves,
a diadem of moonbow, where light/
water/air meet & I find myself
at the meridian of my own
firefly luminescence.
About the Author:
Taunja Thomson’s poems have appeared most recently in The Ekphrastic Review as finalists in its “Perfect Ten Marathon” contest, Sagebrush Review, & Beyond Words’ “Scars” anthology. She is a co-author of Frame and Mount the Sky (2017) & Delight Is a Field (2025) & author of Strum and Lull (2019), The Profusion (2019), & Plunge (2023).