Photo Courtesy: Agencies
This nose
I put on with it’s horrible crook that is ugly.
It is hideous but given
a gift from the man before me
and the man before him.
I wake up every morning with a sigh and look up
How should I clean and store my face mask?
at the dull morning reflection of light
reflected from our new-aged buildings.
Off the luxury sack and through the kitchen
door--I see the man. Whose nose worn proudly upon
his blank-faced canvas, it is his own.
This nose I wear in
all its curve that is
what it is.
It sits proudly
upon my blank-face canvas
it is my own paint and sign
that this lump is mine and the
mirror it greets peeking through
these weary eyes of mine that
recognize the girl. Whose face looks
outward toward the grey sky.
Another day in my wake and I reach out my arm.
I wear my nose.
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