Like a sock in the dryer

She told me to write my bio line.
Those few sentences at the end of a piece
that direct the reader
to know who is writing.
That should be simple, right?
Just write
yourself on to the page.
But that advice, for some reason, had me at a loss.
Who am I?
Other than Mommy?
State employee
who hates her job?
Preacher, ordained clergy
who won't sit in the pulpit?
An academic
who can't complete her degree?
An intellectual
who never has time to think?
I am
and I am not.
And I feel lost.

She suggested I come up with a theme
around which I write.
Something that interests me
something that displays my expertise
something based on my identity
something that comes from my voice.
Race?
No.
Single motherhood by choice?
No.
Gender?
No.
Theology?
Uh...
Barthian theology?
Feminist theology?
Womanist theology?
No.
Who am I?!
About what will I write?
I feel so lost.

Sitting quietly, giving hugs
full of cheer
quickly turned to tears
about nothing.
Cars dug for
get launched down the stairs.
Hungry?
Sleepy?
Yeah.
He ate the waffle
wouldn't drink his milk.
He couldn't keep his eyes open.
Sleep before he hit the bed.
It's 6 pm.
I feel so lost.