A Face

A face is taken for granted
like wind that sweeps
one hair at the wrong place.

Except during noon heat
when it is absent,
when we miss it.
A face is glanced at often
in a family,
everyday.

Like a seriograph we buy
and hang above a table.
We pass eight times an hour.
A face does not impress us,
one we have known for years.

Nor the water we soak in
or pour upon the same plants,
day after day.

A face is who you are today.
It is part of normalcy.
It is gone.
And we miss it.