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 © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment