The Question

by Justine C. Tajonera

Dust gathers, cracks
widen with time.
If you stand long enough
in front of a mirror,
all you will see
are the infinitesimal
imperfections
on your skin.

Who am I without
my pen or journal?

The question rings
the empty spaces
of unexpressed stories
and cobwebs of
disorganized thought
that line the corners
of my mind.

The question joins
the many pithy inquiries
of this world
as old as
language itself.

I don't presume to
know any
of the answers.
I only know
to ask.

Here is what I have
dredged up.
Here is what I have
committed.
The rest are endless,
daily questions
of what I want,
where I want
to go.

The question is asked.
I attempt to answer
every
single
day.

(June 11, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/torley/2726594777/