She is Me
I saw her in the mirror today
With soft new wrinkles and hair of gray…
Her eyes were a tired kind of blue. . .
She wondered, “Who in the world are you?”
She looked away, but it was too late,
The truth left no room for debate,
Youth was losing its place on her face
And age was taking up more and more space.
Her double chins had strange new sags,
Under her eyes were dark, heavy bags.
She felt what I couldn’t see. . .
The pain in both her arthritic knees.
Tears welled up in my eyes for her,
Sorrow for things that no longer were.
Questions about the things to come,
And all the things she’d left undone.
I smiled at her hoping she’d take heart,
Because this age might be the start.
That’s what those older than her say,
And I really wanted her to believe it that day.
She took a breath and closed her eyes. . .
She said a prayer and released a sigh,
Then turned to go into the day ahead. . .
Glad she’d already made her bed.
She hesitated at the door,
Taking just a moment more,
To consider who she was and is,
Before getting back to the writing biz.
Flashes of herself from all those years,
Chased away the lingering tears.
The baby, the toddler, the girl, the teen,
The bride, the raccoon mama, and middle-aged me.
And then I took another look to see
Yes I was right – she is me.
This poem and photograph are ©Joy DeKok
Until Next Time,