What She Sees

Ah, to age gracefully, what a gift that would be…

 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.  

This poem is part of an online collection I call All the Shapes of Joy.

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