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The Poet's Face
by Carrie Jones
I saw the poet’s face for the first time
Today. It wasn’t what I expected,
More Springsteen than Jesus. His head tilted
To the side like a dog when it just can’t
Figure out what her humans are trying
To say. His brow was heavy, eyes too sad,
Bags beneath them holding all the wrongs we’ve
All accumulated just beneath skin.
I wonder if those wrongs are what leaks out
Onto the pages, again and again.
I saw the poet’s face today. It was
What I expected. There was no beauty
Just age and sadness and an unfixed gaze,
No big wisdom lurking in the spaces.
He just looked normal. Is he? Am I, too?
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