I was six when I died.
Herbie threw a stone
Into my resident ditch, and opened my skull.
Bad business.
That was 68 years ago.
For years Herbie had nightmares.
Other than dying
I suffered no lasting ill effects.
I know about Herbie because we’ve talked.
Six months ago we started an ongoing conversation.
I remembered the feeling of “sweat”
Running down my face.
I don’t remember my mother
Stopping a car on our street
And insisting the driver take us to the hospital.
She was really scared.
Certainly the event was traumatic.
When I came home it was as a different person.
My hair was cut really short. I was taller,
But continued to go by my first birth name.
There is no certificate
Attesting to my death and resurrection,
Nor am I nobler for having transitioned,
Just older with unresolved issues.
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