Age


There must be some mistake---
I am not the Venus
           of Willendorf
These breasts that hang
   low and mournful,
   do not belong to me.
This bulging goddess belly
     is not sacred
My flesh is swollen
     with unshed tears
Muscles and bones
   scream with the memory
         of past wounds
Crows circle my eyes
  
 
Crimes, violations, betrayals
     no longer hide beneath
         my smooth skin
They have surfaced
       to weigh my body down
         with their sad tales
The mask I wore for centuries
       is now my face
The lines around my mouth
     finally telling the truth
Where I’ve been…
     what I’ve endured
     and smiled through…

I want to carve my self
     a minimal, silent body
One that can keep secrets
 So that no one will know
I am not the prancing young girl
       the hope-filled child…

 This is my body, I say…
       not ready to be crucified
             on the cross of time
And if it must be so---
       that Age conquers all
Then please tell me
       that there is a place
   I can go to before I die…
   where flesh melts away,
             inconsequential …
   in the heat of some sacred Light.


c.mva2005

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