by Walter Canter

A legion of pain
Released from 
My body.

There is
No room on 
Your boat?

Tell friends?

What friends?

My family
Disowned me.

My community
Cast me out.

My church
Gave up on me.

I am a refugee.
I fled myself.

Or maybe myself
Fled from me.

My identity 
for so long
Has run off 
that cliff.

There is we,
In the broken
Floating bits
Of two thousand
Pigs.

The two thousand
Parts that aren't
 
Me. 

Now he floats
In his boat
With his
Twelve through
My twisted
Entrails and
Broken bones.

He leaves me here.

Free, yes.

But what do I 
Do with freedom?

I can flee to Decapolis
Perhaps there is enough
Anonymity in ten cities
To not be known
As who I was
When I was them.

Them. 
I was.

Now,
I am I.

Not we.
I am me.

I am one
For once.

I have died
Two thousand times.

I died two thousand deaths
So that I can live.

He killed me
In two thousand pigs
Jumping off a cliff
So that I could be free.
So I could be me.
And I am.

Walter Canter writes words. He is a pastor, a father, and a poet who studies Creative Writing and Public Theology at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. His church is Blue Ridge Presbyterian Church in Ruckersville, VA (brpcva.org).