Facing One’s Face
by Odin Roark


Living with the face we get
starts with amoretto cheeks
beneath storybook eyes,
silken strands draped across the brow,
curious noses,
innocent lips.

Upon canvases of reality
strokes the brush of time,
dipping constantly from honesty’s palette.
layering change upon change.

Colors…
some untainted,
others muddy.

Drying.

Cracking.

Flaking.

Reflections unavoidable.

One’s personal artwork
will one day retire to Life’s attic,
that place where sheltered memories
need not mirrors anymore.

One remembers expressions for their own sake
understands “lifts” and “Botox” make but wannabe masks,
reserved for manufactured make-believe happiness.