I look in the mirror, and what do I see?
A much older woman
Who is staring at me.
How can that be?
Where is me?
And who is she?
I look again, and again, and again.
Her hair is white
Her skin is sagging
Her eyes are dim
Energy flagging.
But I am not that…
I’m bountiful inside
I reach for the moon
I soar and I glide
I’m just about five,
Sometimes twenty,
Maybe thirty…
But never seventy.
Oh, yes…I’ve felt like ninety at times,
And my body does ache
And my memory slides
But essential me,
The one always here
She is vibrant and young
Sharp, witty, and clear.
I’m not complaining
Just want to know
When the bloom started fading
Diminished its glow.
How can it be
That me who feels free
Looks in the mirror to see what I see
And my grandmother’s image
Reflects back at me!?