A Stranger In the Mirror
These days, I look into a mirror
and ask myself who that person is-
that diminished creature-
gazing back in puzzlement.
A smile garners
a goofy grin in return.
I don't know that old woman,
how'd she get in there?
There's no simple formula
for what life slings at us
in terms of happiness or sorrow,
no such thing as a standard share.
Until my mother died, the sum
of my life's sorrows could press
into grandmother's tiny thimble.
Why all these unearned lines?
Is there some unwritten rule,
that every milestone gets carved
into your face, like the etchings
in granite, after you're planted?
Zap! Another line here.
Zip! Another sag there.
And that woman in the mirror,
she's nothing but a bundle of lies..
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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