"Who are we before we are our stories?"
When you lose your identity there is no other person-no parent, no teacher, no lover, no doctor, not even a god-who can lead you back to yourself.
These poems give voice to the hardship of this solitary journey, the heartache of looking back, the bereavement in turning away, and then, invariably, the power in pressing on. There is grief in every step, but so too is there hope.
"Perhaps it has a name and, by tasting, I might know it."