shadow of iris
Time pulls me
from my shell
and spreads me out
by the numbers.
Owch! I like to stay in my mortal cowrie, curled up around finality.
Husk and seed as one – time does tend to dry us out, doesn’t it? Sometimes I look in the mirror and am surprised by my age. (Other times, I feel it…) Your poem is the starting point for my own thoughts.
I’m thinking of the work day…how, in my position, I must be “on”, smiling, meeting the public, working a room. It is not the natural me. I would be still in my pajamas, in the shell of my home, with coffee, a book, a camera. But the clock does lay me out in numeral sequence where I wither for a time while blooming in public. It sucks me dry from the inside out until I am home again happily shelled.
Peter, yes … if only time would let us!
Barb, age … I still feel a boy, I look in the mirror and wonder about the older fellow looking back at me.
Annie, yeah, I think that’s why I came to Japan, I couldn’t handle the routine … but then I found it’s hard to run from!
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