Mirrors in Light

The sunlight, sharp, razor-flash bright,                  

       reveals the wear and tear of time: unabashed.

In this light she is old, a past,

      no more in a hay-day that came before.

Now mostly remembered as the youth she was.

Young no longer and she wouldn’t want to be necessarily

       or might not want to be again. But?  Maybe?

Wrinkles, map her face from stress, from time, and from quite simply,

      life lived.

Seemingly new ones each day and deeper still,

       splashed on cheek and neck and arms.

They mock louder as light moves higher in the sky. 

Loose skin shows muscle loss like limp flags at noon.

Mirrors wince at this reflection of a certain age.

And she is ….whom?

Young no longer and she wouldn’t want to be necessarily

         or might not want to be again, But? Maybe?

 

The moonlight, mute, candle-glow dim,

        reveals a frame, not so much touched by time: assertive.

In this light, she would be called mature, a presence, not old,

         with more to give in what will come.

Wrinkles blur. The bleached gray hair of day is dark and full.

Mirrors smile at this reflection of whatever age.

In the shadow-light, she recognizes the who she was

         with a smile, with delight: a welcome visitor from the past.

No regrets. No re-do. All things considered, a life well lived.

Yet, young no longer and she wouldn’t want to be necessarily

       Or might not want to be again. But? … Maybe?

A resounding, NO!

 

 

 

 

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