Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

THIS MASK. THIS FIGURE. SUCH STUFF.
by Marcia Karp

What is this mask Iíve grown?
It does not suit me at all.
It is cracked and worn. How could I know
This would be the mask Iíd grow?
I have not reaped what I meant to sow
(In morningís dew, as I recall).
What is this mask Iíve grown?
It does not suit me at all.

Who cut this figure from such stuff?
It never could have been the mode.
Welts and clabber, who could touch
This figure? Who cut it from such stuff?
This warp is stretched, this weft is rough.
(This morning, I recall, it was finely sewed.)
Who cut this figure from such stuff?
It never could have been the mode.

What is this mask Iíve grown?
Who cut this figure from such stuff?
I recall mornings a fineness showed.
Not this figure. Not this mask Iíve grown.
No fine skin, no mornings, no dew, no fine bones
Have been left me. Iíve clabber and welts and dusk.
What is this mask Iíve grown?
Who cut this figure? And from such stuff?


Copyright © 2016 by Marcia Karp.