We ignore the bag we live in until it chastens us. Cut or burned, bruised or broken out, it becomes visible, heals like magic. In childhood it’s chicken pox, impetigo, measles. In high school it’s bouquets of pimples and ballooning fever blisters. Perfect skin is edible – who doesn’t desire to gobble a baby or study a youth’s perfection? At 20, I eat my way through Europe and acquire stretch marks. At forty, I notice a crack under my chin. A tiny person seems about to remove the scaffolding. At fifty, laugh lines become crevasses. At 73, I drool over nothing. At 75, the thin flesh of my hands is crinkled, ancient. I bruise without notice. Mapped by veins and arteries, this skin’s a phlebotomist’s delight. It cuts like butter. The chin under my chin resembles a whale’s, creased and ridged for expansion. Perhaps I’ll blow a bubble net and rise through the day eating words.
BUBBLE NET
Comments
8 responses to “BUBBLE NET”
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Perfect description of the aging skin! Mine is now 80 and it just gets worse. But these wrinkles and bags and sags are proud reminders of a life well lived.
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♥️♥️♥️♥️
Sent from my iPhoneMichael Cover202-277-5692
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Love the poem. It’s so true to life for me and very well written.
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Thank you, Suze!
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Thank you!
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I agree, Marti. We earn our wrinkles!
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Still the most beautiful women I know!
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Thank you.
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A WELL TRAVELED HEART 
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