There is so little we actually know
We see a face, a smile.
Yet deeper—below skin deep—
Muscles work, pull and stretch,
Contracting to cause a grimace,
Relaxing to sigh, synchronizing
Speaking, whistling, screaming.
And that’s just to make
An expression, on the face of it
A superficial thing.
What about
What lies beneath
My torso’s taut layer
Of epidermis?
Larger mystery by far,
A complex city of cells—
Organs, tissues, blood, and sinew…
I’ve heard that some
Who meditate long and deep
Can feel their organs working:
Kidneys filtering,
Livers metabolizing,
Bladders flushing,
Veins filling and flowing,
And of course, hearts pumping.
I am not so very evolved, yet.
And also, I try to recall
It’s not all
About me,
Even though these things
Are me:
I know each citizen
Of this odd metropolis
Has its own mind.
Each tiny attribute contributes,
Yet heeds its own programming—
Its own personality, its own destiny.
Some rebel against the system.
Some profess a disregard
For fairness, cooperation.
For doing their jobs.
And we’ll never even know
A subterfuge is underway
Until it may well be too late.
And for all we say and do,
For all we promise and swear,
For all we hate and love and judge
And laugh and disdain—
When it comes to
What’s in us,
What’s lost, we cannot
Bring back again.
- Meredith Alexander Kunz © 2019
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