Finding my name.

ברינה

I lean on five letters
and they slope
to carry my weight,

these pounds of
muscle, mind, and organ
pushed through pen stroke,
calligraphed into
language I can’t read.

My eyes stumble right to left,
trip over symbols,

willing
this joy to begin
where words end.

B’rina: with rejoicing.  So begins my story.

[to be continued.]