A Face of Age Yet Beautiful

A face of age, a septuagenarian that magically reverts to my twenties when I turn away from the mirror. My hair of silver does what it pleases to cover my face. I can't move one side of my face, a condition they call Bell's Palsy. Flirty, half fallen, silky gray hair that helps me cover the one side. My forehead smooths out from the left and slight creases on the right. My eyebrows are small; a student describing them like commas. When I was younger, my large brown eyes and long dark lashes were the focal point of my face. As the years moved on, erosion has chosen to leave me with bloodshot eyes; one normal the other droopy and dry as the sands of the Sahara Desert whether from the constant irritation or the countless sleepless night. I've always had a round face with freckles and a small turned-up nose that is a beacon of shine if it's not powdered. I am very fortunate, I have no wrinkles around my eyes, but two smile lines that crinkle on either side of my nose. My lips are not like a lot of women, plump, I inherited my father's small thin lips. As a teen, I would gloomily glare in the mirror hating the way they looked. My teeth are not quite perfect, but I might remind you of a chipmunk. They're not noticeable since I am not able to smile. If I don't, I look very normal, but a look of scowling. A face of age yet beautiful. 12/26/2019 Poetry Contest: The Metaphor Of Your Face Sponsored BY: John Lawless