27. Ode to My Beard

Ode to my beard

My reflection in the mirror
A good solid beard
on a world-weary face
Salt and pepper coloring?
My roots go to Irish fields
and the Scottish lowlands
Cinnamon sugar
Especially the cinnamon
and especially in the light of dusk

The eyes are a path to the soul
but the wrinkles are the map
My beard, a shield.
Or is it a battering ram
Doing the heavy lifting of
protecting my smile
and hiding a weak chin

My beard is unruly
Glowing with the emotions
that burn brightly deep inside
but have to get out somehow
Lest they double back on themselves
and form a singularity

I trim my beard with scissors
and occasionally a razor
A hair here, a clump there
Stubborn whiskers that never stop
and that remind me of my grandpa
who had hair coming from everywhere

I raze it
I raze it all.
Clumps of hair on the ground
that yell and ask why?
And I regret it every time
but welcome the cool air on my warm face
and the looks of surprise
And forced smiles because the beard does a lot of work
And hides a lot of stuff
there’s nowhere for the crumbs to go

It grows back
And makes me pay penance by the itchiness
But trees start off as roots, too
And my cheeks go from wrinkled fields
To lush forests
with time.