My Middle Name Is Faith
It’s not that I don’t like it,
It’s that I’ve not yet embraced it,
Happening as it does, or seems
To do, so quickly overnight.
A process that I still don’t understand – not quite.
An age, the wrong side of the wrong side;
Stronger, weaker, ripened, mellow;
Still a seeker; seasoned fellow
Still preparing.
There are signs of maturation,
Both the rotting and the sprouting,
Yet the outer still concerns me:
Hanging, wrinkling, liver spots,
Graying hair and graying grin,
Growths like grain,
Red blotches, blots
Of pigment loss on what was porcelain;
Dropping off, a muted snore,
Dryness in the privates sore;
Swellings, shrinkings, pills galore –
Costing more
Than they are worth.
It comes so quickly, or it seems to –
Deficits and extra needs
In karmic keeping with the deeds.
Still, it fosters going inwards,
Digging deeper, hunting it;
Hunting something fall- and spring-less,
Everything-ness
In its self.
My middle name is faith.
©My Middle Name Is Faith 4.19.2001 2.5.2004
Circling Round Woman; Time; Circling Round Nature;
Birth, Death & In Between; Circling Round Wrinkles; Arlene Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 