I do not know who I am. I seem to be an uneven mix Of so many persons; Someone’s daughter (Though that person Is now, several years, In the past tense) Someone’s sister (Also in the past) A friend to several people, The wife of one man To whom I gave several decades Before that, too Slipped into the past. I am the butt of many jokes The object of scorn to many; Yet others regard me with affection. I too have given my heart, For life: I am the mother of one, The mother-in-law of one, And the grandmother of two. I feel, though, that sometimes One person in me predominates Over the others. What I would like to be Is a complete person: An amalgam, a balanced mix Of these people who live And breathe within me. But I seem to be more Like a Ferris wheel Where first one person, And then another Rise to the top, and the others Sink below into unheeded Oblivion. Where is the singer? The theatre critic? The writer? The quizzer? The lover of languages? Where am I? Who am I? I am mixed, indeed…and do not know.