Where have I been these last 12-plus months? I want to tell you I’ve been rediscovering life but that would be a lie. Instead, I’ve been slowly crumbling under the weight of … me. I’ve always been my own worst enemy, but I’m also brutally self-aware and honest with myself and that’s when my creativity kicks in. I’ve got some ideas for my next writing challenge, so stay tuned. For now, I leave you with a poem I started last summer during a warm, quiet day overlooking the Navesink River in Fair Haven, N.J.
Shells
My palm is a cradle, and
your Caribbean blue coat pops
against my pale, splotchy skin
light, dainty, fragile
not unlike my own,
though I work hard to conceal it.
You are smooth, barely blemished
but for two nut-brown dots.
Are those liver spots
like mine?
I don’t remember
aging, but I do
remember
when my flesh was soft, supple
and white
as a snowflake
but with fewer lines.
Before my walls cracked
and the years spilled forth,
dating me,
like a moth-eaten bridal gown,
torn, tattered, and filled with holes,
spread open for all to see
(like you nestled in my hand)
that it is I
who punctured me.
*Image by Claudia Heimann from Pixabay.