Sunday, December 30, 2018
Poets' Faces––poem by Dorothy
Poets' Faces
I look at the poets' faces
and they are beautiful
and wry,
they know things
and how to say them,
they have been there
as witness to small events
and consequential happenings
and taken notes.
I am still struggling
to mould a decent countenance,
each year texture more amorphous,
outlines more uncertain,
as if I did not belong here,
as if it all was a mistake,
and I got delivered
to the wrong planet
and never found my intended
home.
Still, I feel connected
to something
not definable,
something not seen
but felt,
a feather brushing my ear,
a soft breeze
stroking my belly.
Even now
almost no one knows me
but I am not concerned.
I am hidden and diligent.
Words get whispered
into my ear
and I say them,
and sometimes some people
listen.
Dorothy Walters
December 29, 2018
