I see flashes of you.
You were young, once,
And beautiful.
Then you were my age.
At thirty-eight
You already had six children.
In the mirror
I see flashes of you
When the sun strikes
My made-up face
And shadows the lines,
The pores,
The pouches of extra flesh
Dragging my face
Toward the earth.
In the mirror
I see flashes of you.
I am aging, mother.
And you won't see me.
March 25, 1996
from journal entry dated January 26, 1995
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1 comment:
These poems are so beautiful. They come straight from the heart and are so simple, yet filled with emotion.
Remember: This, too, shall pass.
It always does.
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