Age

She used to think age was an abstract noun Then I told her she was wrong I told her you could see the years set in You can see hands begin to tremble Minds begin to shake. The blank never filled. I told her about the shuddering sighs And the memory melding identities together I become my aunt. I told her about the moments when He couldn't remember what month it was Or he forgot my dog’s name. And when I told her about the days That were good, Like when he told me about his childhood And he knew his old address, She seemed to be looking past me, Focusing on the present. And I spoke of the days Oceans dripped off my cheeks Because I could tell he knew He knew his body was his cage He knew he wasn’t himself anymore Because he was buried too deep to find. And when I looked up from my sorrow I saw a girl A girl with red eyes and Mascara tracks down her nose, Shattered and broken In front of a mirror.