Skin
This started out taut
as some notes upon skin
but my skin’s too thin
and let’s other things in.
It’s a form of osmosis
new words just soak in
so the poem I finish
won’t be the one I begin.
The hide on this poem
is like a balloon
that expands and expands
‘til it rivals the moon
that fat angel face
who’s long lost her chin
so how many angels
can fit on a pin?
But each month she diets
and grows painfully thin
her guts fade away
the outside leaks in
until she becomes
size o again.
I’d like my own dermis
to shrink to a grin
to laugh off the chips
the red wine and the gin
but the leather’s too old
to flex like a fin.
Too much weight lost
and this bag starts to sag
‘til it hangs on my scaffold
like a weather worn rag
so I’ll flaunt this old pelt
like a well practiced sin
and just learn to love
the skin that I’m in.
*J.S.Watts’ poetry appears in British, Canadian and American publications including: Acumen, Envoi and Orbis. Her collection, Cats and Other Myths, is published by Lapwing Publications.
