> A Graveyard of Faces

A Graveyard of Faces

Par |2019-01-19T15:40:45+00:00 3 septembre 2012|Catégories : Blog|


That mor­ning, I woke without a face.
I had drop­ped it,
sleep wal­king at night,
a forest of fal­len trees.
The worms had got­ten to
all but the ears.

In the shop down the road,
they had just sold the last human face.
“Sorry, madam. We are out of stock,” the sales­man infor­med a friend,
“In any case, we only do dis­po­sables
and the lady, you say, wants a face
that will wea­ther
the long win­ters of dying poems ?
A more per­ma­nent sort of face, that would be then…
We don’t do those, I’m afraid.”

Eventually, I have to set­tle for a dis­po­sable.
A face that will not out-last
the for­get­ting of lines.
But it can do “sad”.
And it can do “hap­py”.
It can get on
bet­ter than my old face could.

On the first day of eve­ry month,
I walk to that forest of fal­len trees
and bury my face
in a gra­veyard filled with my faces.
Carefully, I put on a new one,
pink and fresh from its plas­tic case and,
des­pite the absence of inter­es­ted worms,
die again
and again
and again.