This Furrowed Brow and Lined Face

I know these features so well, I no longer see them.

That permanant
between my eyebrows;

more a result of reaching to see,
eyes squinting on the horizon…

or not.

no matter, never mind…
they have been with me

nearly since birth.

the contorted face
of someone peering
into the visual world,

working out just
what it was,
that was
being seen

Or those grooves around my mouth and eyes

The ones that come to life in a smile
Or seem dead in a frown

Reminding me
which way I can choose




The lines don’t change
only their direction

Looking back
at these lines
it occurs to me
between the ages of 6 and 10

every idol of my parents

which of course meant
every idol of mine

was murdered in cold blood;
mostly in public.

No wonder my brow furrowed.

By the time I was 12,

the world

as I had been reaised
to believe in it…





upright and strong
and honest

had been destroyed in front of me.

My face began to change.

Not because I was wrong or the world was bad:

But because the world had lost its compass

and I knew it.

No child on this earth can walk the world and not know if
it is the current state of affairs.

and make no mistake.
it is.

and they know it.

Filed in: Poems

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