Through the Looking Glass

Lost my looks
some time ago, at least
that’s how it feels,
despite appeals of protest
from the man in my life.

Gone more grey, recently
from the strife of just being alive.

Sure, I scrub up well,
and maybe only I can tell
my hair is thinning
and a thickness is winning
at the middle.

I’m not exactly an old biddy yet,
but there’s no surprise in eyes anymore
when I reveal my age.

I look in the bathroom mirror
and wonder when it happened?
There must have been a solitary day
where I crossed that line
between youth and … anyway,

don’t know where I’m going with this,
and then I think,
nobody’s waiting for it—there’s no deadline,
all these changes will still be here
to write about tomorrow …
unless I’m not.

*wink, wink

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017

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9 thoughts on “Through the Looking Glass

  1. Really good poem, nicely structured. You are far from alone, and articulate so beautifully the pain of ageing. As a child I dreamed of being older, now I dream of being younger…there must have been a period of contentment.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, there was, some time in between, but sadly, I don’t think we recognize it when it occurs. Funny how our perception of age is so distorted when we are young, and how it changes so much when catch up.
      Thanks for reading and your comment. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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