Saturday, September 20, 2014


I peel off the soaked t-shirt and sweats; I’m down
to socks when I look at myself in the bathroom mirror.
Again the shock of this new old me. Naked, it’s clearer
that I can’t see without assessing. I’m still wearing

stories, scars, a callus near the ball of my right foot,
a slight sunburn, a chafed spot that sets me swearing.
Parts melt like beeswax or are shirred, skin needling
from sweat. And then the child I was giggles, drowns

out my noisy old woman’s knees, my past ever present.
The young woman I was caused those creaks: shot put
and knelt kisses, jumping off huge logs dark with soot.
Reflecting, what I see: I’m worn, but incandescent.


lowenkopf said...

Nice to see you back.

Larry said...

Worn, but phosphorescent -- like that phrase!

Like a sparkler burning near the end of its lumpy coating of some Oriental pyrotechnic compound, hitting a bulge and throwing off some quite spectacular sparks.

Jean said...

I love 'worn, but phosphorescent' !

Lori Witzel said...

Had a better word spark along today's walk; I give off heat as well as light. :)