The Face as Memoir
How often we ponder
The portrait of life
Some without a face
Some with but war as a canvas
Such a face
Reveals folds above eyes
Disengaged as a draught-laden wilderness
Yet reliable as an infrequent desert storm
For amidst nature’s wisdom
Directional signs are forever available
Even though some may be
Subtle and wanting to hide
Still
Few pay attention
Perfection makes no judgment
History is difficult to cover up
When presented by a face
That has obviously seen
More than most of us
Can dream of
Archiving such potential realities
Begs the opening of discovery
Often challenging one’s patience
The forever-our-partner in waiting
Smiling back sagacity so anxious
Wanting only to be part of our own smile
The face
What was
What is
What might attract
Veracious seekers of life
Accepting their journey
As the worth of engaging years
Infused with honesty
Allowing chiseled sculpture
To live forever in the eye’s mind
Of those who might also
Wish to perceive beyond the face
Projecting the wonder
Life
Peace
Waiting for the next iteration
Remains a journal of the spirit
Some will fortunately
Embrace with understanding
Knowing weathered skin
Is but captured wind and weather
Mind and soul
Body and suffering
Wanting only to remain
Without airbrush deceit
As is
As was
As will always be
While others
Will address
One’s life map of travels
With fearful retreat
Wanting still the shadows of delusion
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Native Americans spend most of their lives out in the elements of wind and sun. And many smoke pipe or cigarettes, even the women, every day. The loss of teeth affects the way the lower jaw looks.
I recall a great aunt of mine. Early pictures of her in her young married life showed her to be a rather homely woman. But when she saw her 11-year-old daughter get hit by a car coming around her school bus from the window of their house, her hair turned immediately white and white hair made her very attractive. She stayed beautiful, with many men after her after her husband died, she told me. Beautiful well into her 90s when she died. The 11-year-old daughter, Linda, was in a coma for five weeks, had a broken hip and pelvis that never quite healed properly and suffered the effects of brain damage while being a secretary for an insurance company.
I don't know how Linda looks today, at about 75, but she is in a very old and established nursing home with her older sister. Another sister, all of them very beautiful, just died and is not buried yet. Those two older sisters gave me goosebumps when we went to visit when they were in high school.
Ron