Manic Mirror

She is following me

I see her in every corner

in every window.

Occasionally I smile at her

sometimes I am shocked

when she smiles back.

Today she is painted

pink on her lips

hair in perfect place

glistening skin

feet in flip flops

legs climbing to

a hint of belly

I see a smile

an arm

and I wonder

who she really is.

Who is this woman

with a cracked foundation

walking briskly

in long strides

nursing a travel mug

oblivious to

passersby

fading out of sight

seeking places to escape

to sit and write?

Technically, I am middle-aged

dishwater hair roots

strands of sunbleached gold

straggly ends of platinum

eyes that wrinkle

behind sunglasses

and a mouth

that sometimes trembles

so ready to cry

for yesterday

and days gone by

when I should have

could have

wanted to

but didn't.

So, here I am

smelling of raspberries

and vanilla with

life blood dripping

through my keyboard

in the midday

of my pre-menopausal,

pausing through

my woman body

reminding me

there is still

so much to do.



.