Voices on the Wind Voices on Aging
Invisible by Kathryn Jacobs We drip down rust-brown, like banana-peels or last year's palm-fronds so nobody sees us, brittle-beige and crunchy. History accumulates, but they don't notice. We cling flip-side to the shafts of glossy-green ignoring us, curled inverse in a skin like split-leaved artichokes, till we begin to bunch together, dry and clumped and fat; our perky new-spawned brethren look like hats perched on antiquity, their necks like plates except that we're the clown-ruffs that the fronds erupt from greenly. Look at them, stuck-on like sprouted pineapples with fingers on splayed out defiantly, impervious, pretending they were not homogenous: history in-the-making, just like us