My Face Poem by Charlotte Ballard

What does my face mean?
Dripping away as it does?
A line turned down, or up
Or sideways yet. Here’s a
Bump, and a curve, hooked
Just so, and then a button
Where my mouth should
Go–

The color has bleached
Gray and shell white
Like the inside of my
Skull, tempered down
In the sand. Pick me
Up, and hold me to
Your ear, and there
Hear, a tidbit of
Poetry, nonsense, I
Fear –

Turn it over, and
Mamma comes
Wheezing out an
Asthmatic chest.
Never mind, I don’t
Care – I want to say
That, instead but
The words comes
Out the same
Mamm—

Little pieces of seaweed
And alabaster clam
Swirl in a nine-point
Salad, let me give you
A bit of mine. No?
Does it bore you? This
Face of mine? The
Waves shove forth – A
Bit of jam, a leg of lamb.
Neat as a pin, neat
as a plan–

My face scrubbed clean
By scrambling clams
Gossiping over the
Price of Gas or was
It how Clorax gets
White things so
Sparkling fresh
Unlike me –

Never mind,
I’ve got a new one
Here, buried under
A rock, for times
Like these, uncreased
Unsteamed, all lines
Straight, and I disappear
Between-