Skin

My skin is growing thin
the youthful firmness of my jaw
is melting downward
flesh now pools in concentric circles
around my knees and elbows
like the ripples in a pond
flee an intruding stone
a moonscape of meteorite scars
that were always there
now exposed by the erosion of time
on the continent of my face

My skin is growing thin
can no longer contain
its habitual yeses
does not stretch and give
like it did
during the spring of my blossoming
now midsummer
its lessened elasticity
no longer accommodates everyone’s demands
all shiny possibilities
every intriguing suitor
I am learning to say no.

My skin is growing thin
becoming righteous intolerance
and short fuse impatience
it can no longer abide
dogs barking next door
pundits barking their wares
blind and deaf fools
convulsing chaos around me
the common lack of sense and meaning
the apathy and obliviousness of those
outside my tribe

My skin is growing thin
so I retreat to safety
silk and bones to encase me
protective cocoon keep me
whole
in integrity
while I wait for my metamorphosis

You see
my skin is growing thin
but it’s
still

growing.

© S. Rinderle, 3/20/14

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4 thoughts on “Skin

  1. Really neat poem, makes its points with an ironic touch. Particularly need is the “ending refrain”!

    Perhaps you are becoming a Mother Jones for the post-modern age?

    H >

  2. Hi Hugh! Thanks for that! Well, I might not becoming a magazine, nor do I relish the idea of losing all my children and husband to yellow fever, or all my possessions and business to a fire…..but the rabble-rousing-social-justicey Irish Grandma part, most probably! 😀

  3. Pingback: The unfolding! — celebrating with a young Crone | You are not alone

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