So Many Years, So Many Bodies
by Gideon Burton
If rivers are those rivers still although
a decades' frothy springs with muddy rush
bring waters new that through old stream beds flow,
remaking banks and currents in its flush--
then are we yet ourselves despite the ebb
of cells in turn replaced by newer cells,
and all our nerves just thin recycled threads?
Our stomach flattens, or it bloating swells,
less stable than our scattered leaps of thought.
Our bodies sink or grow or twist with age,
resemblances with youth persist, but clot,
refashioned by our tears or joys or rage.
This bag of time and flesh, my mutant frame,
reframes me with its constant, changing game.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Damon Duncan