The Interior

untitled, 8″ x 4″, ceramic, steel

Illness is the grand pubah of make-over masters.

It is a formula 500 race car in the midst of mopeds.

It is something we never go shopping for

And wish on no one

And each time one arrives

We are there holding the door open fervently praying, salivating even,

For it’s immediate retreat.

But each uninvited guest has it’s very own personality.

They take their scalpels out of a worn tool belt

And shine them up on their ugly pants.

A terrible gleam in their eye

Is mixed with oceanic compassion

As it carves away at our fondness

For who we were

And leaves us raw

And bleeding.

At some point the impossibly red

And vital blood

Stops running.

And we are left with a scar.

It is not the kind one shows off for effect.

A private wound

Invisible to most.

We keep lifting our sleeve with a curious eye

To check on the healing.

We find the scar is not ugly at all..

In fact,

There are miracles woven

Into the knitting that has happened.

Miracles without a thread to any language we know.

So they remain hidden

Except to us..

The hosts of illness;

We keep lifting our sleeves

And slyly peeking under

When we have the strength

To check on

The gossamer robe

Taking shape.


3 Responses to “The Interior”

  1. Adele Rosen on February 4th, 2011

    You are so amazingly beautiful and wise and gifted and strong and weak and compassionate and present and beautiful and beautiful and inspiring
    writer poet artist friend…..I am honored to know you xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  2. Laura Hegfield on February 5th, 2011

    Oh sweet friend this is so beautiful! So much clarity for the shared, yet unique (to each individual) journey we are traveling.

  3. Carol S. on February 6th, 2011

    Gosh, where do you get these ideas and images? Really makes me think, and I like that.

Leave a Reply