I was able to do some small, lite things yesterday. Dentist, store, read a book…or was that unthinkingly skim a book. At some point, I now feel I will be over this lite cold. Frankly, I’m being grumpy about losing this week to a virus. You can see me stamping my foot and acting like a two year old about this. When I’m awake. At least I’m not sharing it.
The last poem I wrote before getting fuzzy is this one I share with you. Not my best at all, but it’s lite content for the journal.
Make It So
Unthinkingly we accept ourselves, then
one day we see our skins for the first time;
the first wrinkle, the first texture, wart, lump,
bump and sag. Sometimes we lose weight and all
our skins need renewal. Our houses don’t
fit, our pants fall off, we can’t reach the brakes
in our cars, and our comfortable worlds have
vanished, so we think. Later we note how
our taut stomachs now reach for our thighs while
we peel and crack hunting for our lost words
those fronts and facades for who we once were.
Now often baring our souls instead of
being polite, our epidermally
challenged selves thicken the camouflage.