Jimmy Pappas
CRUMBLING
I am crumbling.
Pieces of me are falling to the floor.
I have to vacuum myself up twice a week.
You can find me in the dust bunnies under the stove.
My skin is a goatskin sack holding my innards together.
I cover myself in the finest lotions to slow the process down.
I was told dust was mostly skin but I researched it and learned
it was not true. But who can say better than I can who I am,
where I am, and how to find me. When I stared at the dust
between my floorboards, I saw myself. That's me, I said.
I should know me when I see me. The dust is a mirror
that treats me like a defiant child who will not listen.
It explains to me who I am and what I will become.
When the Mona Lisa was stolen, people lined up
to see the empty square. When I am gone,
will anyone line up to observe
my absence?