A Refining Fire

I used to imagine that the body
was a sort of fleshy gospel, bound together
by mind and ligaments.
Years of smutch, and oily reduction,
daily, a thin scum to be skimmed -
a process of dross elimination,
but each year there is a teaspoonful of loss
that cannot be explained, made up or accounted for,
more a lessoning and not an alchemy.
If this kind of culinary reduction
keeps losing the fat of me
I will be as nothing,
and maybe that’s the point.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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Rone Avatar
December 27, 2021 at 8:42 AM
Another poem with such great use of words. I am familiar with skim of the dross and know the physical loss in each sweep. - Thanks Eric - Ken
Ashford Avatar
January 16, 2022 at 10:26 AM
Thanks for this fine commentary Ken. Much obliged to you.
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