i, scattered sometimes i wander thru peacock shimmer raptor gardens, sometimes float on a foaming void under blind masks tongue like a dead whale sometimes i spill out the fissures tangled tendrils of eyes striped, serpentine tunnels to—yearning sometimes i crumble, scatter but sometimes birds, yes, there are birds soaring into canyons of sky Anastasia Walker
This poem appears in The Girl Who Wasn't and Is (bd studios, 2021). Anastasia Walker: "i, scattered," is based on a drawing by my brother Bill. Bill was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in spring 2019. He describes this drawing, entitled Synapse, as “a self portrait based upon my journey through” the disease. A bit about me: a Maine native but an academic gypsy for much of my adult life, I’m a poet, essayist, and scholar living in Pittsburgh. Poems of mine have appeared in several journals, and my first book of poetry, The Girl Who Wasn’t and Is, is forthcoming from bd studios. Two of my autobiographical essays were published last spring: “Memory’s Disavowed Daughter” (Fourth Genre 22:1) and “Selling My Record Collection” (Shenandoah 69:2). Through 2016-17, I blogged for Huffington Post on trans and LGBTQ+ issues, and since spring 2019 I’ve posted occasional pieces on politics, social media, and LGBTQ+ issues on Medium. I’m also a passionate amateur photographer and musicologist, and love going for long walks and (when I visit home in the summers) swimming in the ocean. https://anastasiaswalker.blogspot.com/
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May 2025
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