Mossy Face
I am really very beautiful.
Can you see it?
Are you even looking?
You stand in awe at birthing;
Now, for one moment, stand in awe at aging.
Birth gives a bright, white, empty canvas
While I'm a nearly finished masterpiece.
My beauty lives in layer upon layer
Of tiny growing cells,
Hills and valleys of vitality.
Ancient nails give texture to my face,
Adding depth, as wounds will do, with time.
Small creatures hide in crevices of soul,
Feeding their young on bits of my decay;
They weave and sing their spider songs
While I keep still, so very still,
And listen.
