You lift it carefully
with the tweezers ó
the way I lift looped ribbons
in the shoulders of a posh dress
away from the soft fabric ó
and snip it off.
Itís where flesh rubs flesh
in the armpits or folds of a neck,
you explain. And I think of
rings on a tree stump.
Itís nothing to worry about, you say.
Itís just ageing.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Alexandra
Corrin-Tachibana would be pleased to hear them.