I notice that my skin is getting old, and, as a result, I got less burned than I would have otherwise today. And so, poems (from the section on women's skin in the anthology I love):
"Cosmetics do no good:
no shadow, rouge, mascara, lipstick--
Nothing helps.
However artfully I comb my hair,
embellishing my throat & wrists with jewels,
it is no use"
(Steve Kowit)
and
"I've come back to the country where I was happy
changed. Passion puts no terrible strain on me now.
I wonder what will take the place of desire.
I could be the ghost of my own life returning
to the places I lived best. Walking here and there,
nodding when I see something I cared for deeply.
Now I'm in my house listening to the owls calling
and wondering if slowly I will take on flesh again."
(Linda Gregg)
Side note: googling "sunburn" leads to distressing results.
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