passing

In the mirror I
am only a face–
a fleeting facade,
disembodied,
always incomplete.

I recognize it, but I
do not feel attached–
I dislike the lines,
the dark circles,
the sagging jowls.

Our interactions are
conditional, brief.
My face is
interesting in the way
of all faces,

but not memorable or
distinct—brown hair
brown eyes behind glasses–
averagely past its prime–
I could be anyone.

I see the years in
my hands and I
celebrate them.
Why is my aging
face a source of shame?

Our bodies are merely
ephemera—transitory,
waiting to be
discarded—waiting to release
our spirits to the wind.

This is some more old work I never posted because I was moving. It was inspired by two prompts: The Kick-About prompt of Joseph Cornell’s “Romantic Museum”, which was part of an exhibition dedicated to portraits of women, and the dVerse prompt from Sarah asking for self-portraits. As I said to Phil when I submitted my response to the Kick-About: what woman do I know better than myself?

The hand holding a needle in Cornell’s work, above immediately attracted my attention. I wanted to do something on newspaper, but I couldn’t collage (my first choice) as my glue was packed.  My needles and floss were not, however, and this also seemed appropriate to Cornell’s work.

I was pleased to find a newspaper page with a photo of hands.  I drew my own, and also my face, and stitched and wrote my reflections based on the drawings.  It’s not quite finished, but maybe that’s the correct response too.

linking to dVerse Open Link Night, hosted by Grace

self portrait

self portrait comp

Once again
I study the lines
on this face,
reflecting–
depending on the angle
both parents appear.

At different
ages both of my
daughters looked
like I did
in those black and white photos
I inherited.

How do we
become who we are?
cells that form
shapes of hands,
a certain transcribed motion–
time in a mirror.

Ammol at dVerse has asked us to write a portrait poem.  In the past I’ve done a series of self-portraits in the style of other artists (with poetic accompaniment), but in this case I just took 3 recent drawings in my own style, an occasional morning exercise.

hand s

I also like to draw my hands.

 

Reading My Palm

reading my palm s

lines that pay no attention
lines that don’t rhyme
lines that get no satisfaction

lines that answer with a question
lines that cut out the middleman
lines that just wanna have fun

lines that distort
lines that trace the outline of regret
lines that reel in the years

lines that have paid the price
lines squeezing out every last drop
lines tracking my tears

lines scaled to meet expectations
lines keeping score
lines that aim to be true

lines verging on madness
lines confined to what is known
lines whispered in the sound of silence

(with apologies to the Rolling Stones, Cindi Lauper, Steely Dan, Smokey Robinson, Elvis Costello, and Simon and Garfunkel)

Nina and I have been doing our MeMadTwo blog for 5 years now.  We’ve had ups and downs, stops and starts.  Right now Nina is not posting much, due to a variety of issues she’s dealing with.  I don’t want to keep posting there without her (it’s Two, not One), so I’m going to use this blog for times when she’s on hiatus.  When she’s posting, I’ll be back at MeMadTwo.