The wrinkled hand and that stranger face.
They haunt me. I begrudge that
Fleeting look at the unkind mirror of time.
More real are memories.
That do not age.
Doris Jean, long red curls
the first day at school.
Miss Kayland, long, long gone,
But she lives for me.
Crippled but beautiful to my memory’s eyes.
My first kiss – Gordon,
O so handsome Escort.
Red corsage on white knit –
Dark hair
And dancing feet.
Youth and the newness of
One’s breath.
Nothing ages here.
Nothing has wrinkles here.
Juliet, with gold crocheted capulet
And brocade gown – charade of gauze and lace
A drama that lives on and on.
I was she and Romeo wore blue –
Ah me!
Long gone are the way they were;
Nothing has wrinkles here.
Miss Bowers in Latin Class,
Jean Ann and I playing in her
Upstairs room.
Tom and his chartreuse Ford convertible
Ronnie with his flare for debate,
Barbara with her long blonde hair.
Mrs. Walton – big and broad and kind.
Irma whose man was in the Pacific
Eddie – the gorgeous neighbor boy
And the Millards – neighbors, friends, and family.
All are there – living on in memory
As they were then.
Goodbye Mirror – Memories
Never fading – never aging.
If memories do not fade
Do we?
I have trained myself to look beneath the eyelids of those I pass. The physical presence is more than the sum of the life. I resent my blindness when I see someone only as they now appear: old, fragile, crippled, alone --ah! yes, I have learned so much of life from those who appear all used up. Watch! They have the most to tell!
Sue Petrovski
