goes nowhere fast

in truth,
i have forgotten who i am.
all that's left is fragmented:
a bit of bird's nest,
one tennis shoe,
an old spelling test
(b-a-l-l-o-o-n)
that proves i went through
the public school system.
in a drawer in my bedroom
there is all the
flimsy, thin dark lace
that my husband might ever require
me to be sheathed in:
sexuality is the modern protection.