What She Sees
She gazes at the mirror, a fabric
of steam shrouds her view,
but there it is: the velvet
of her long black hair, the oval gemstone
of her face, the soft tapers
of her almond eyes, the wild sweet berries
of her cheeks, the wet red rose petals
of her lips.
She’s 18, her blood flows in love with abandon to the sea…She’s 25, her heart beats a song she dances entwined in love…She’s 31, her arms spread wings of a just-bathed bird grabbing sunlight…She’s 47, her wisdom wafts the scent of apple pie cooling…She’s 59, her passion pours onto canvas in colors and shapes uniquely hers…She’s 68, her life spreads a buffet of nothing but blue sky…
Still staring into the glass, her reflection
emerges through the lifting fog
of her hot bath, her eyes adjust
to the silver sparkle of her hair, the crow’s feet
at the edges of her eyes, the skin
near her chin weighed down by all that living.
And she smiles
embracing all the shapes of joy.