When people ask
who I think I am
I tell them I grew up
with pigs. I ate
off their fat bellies
slept against their
hairy snouts.
I say all that
as if it explains
things. I’m lying.

There’s been no pigs
for years: just horses
and some corn.
But when I think
about who I am
or where I’m from
I still see the shape
of their trotters
still feel their solid
hoary skins.