Often I think
“Am I so easily replaced?”
And then I remember;
I have been the one who
Replaced myself all along
A fool who tried to
Make herself in a god’s image
No water-walking or locusts but
Goldens, satins, rouges
Marble and alabaster, flesh made stone
Was I made in the froth, the remains of a body destroyed?
No. I am no idol, no amorous creature
Though I long to be
Not even an owl am I
Not even a hint of long-wearing stone
That will one day be revered as beauty
I am not the oldest of them all;
Again I respond,
“You know you are crumbling, irrevocably,
To be replaced as such things are - choose
Grace.”
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