My Flesh

this flesh,

my flesh is soft, succulent and brown

a hue passed down

from my Grandpappy

it’s moisture maintained by shea butter

these are the lips

that gave sweet dreams to dry eyes

full and shiny like the sunrise

hands that cradled

water from many streams

used to toil, eager to clean

these are the fingers

that knitted woven things

this flesh,

my flesh is soft, succulent and brown

a hue passed down

from my Grandpappy

but sometimes it betrays me

cute can turn angry with no food

it cries out:

feed me before i turn rude

always wanting what it can’t have

trading in the desires of the heart

for all the shortcuts that make the spirit sad

it specializes in hiding the good

within a shell of bad

elastic

like a rubber band

it snaps back

tighter than spandex jeans

but when wrinkles do come…

my skin will wear it

as a badge of honor

come and see

the signs of a life well lived

look at the temple that gave

and still gives

this flesh is my flesh

and it is what it is

Love always, Esha