Crabs On The Jetty Poem by J.L. Nash

At least it’s not on my face
She would say as if her face
Was some proverbial ticket
Could allow her to collect $200
It had never occurred to her
Scars on the body were as much of a map
As the skin around the eyes of a face
Her face

Smooth skin and the familiar sound of
“I though you were younger”
Served to protect her blind view
In mirrors never full length
The body a shell to house
A smile, those eyes, that skin
And above all other things
Her face

In the glimpse of weeping skin
Caught briefly before it darted
From the fragments of someone else’s mirror
Recollections of the phrase
Scuttled away like crabs on the jetty
After the rain before the sun
Grey and lined she saw for the first time
Her face