There is wisdom and dread
In the old weathered head,
Bearing witness to what I'll become.
No makeup, no disguise,
Crevassed lips, heavy eyes:
An abacus pronouncing a sum.
And yet also a scene
Playing out what has been -
On this stage, it is one and the same.
Nonetheless I don't know,
As I'm watching the show,
If I take it for real, or a game.
In a dimpled relief
She bears hardship and grief.
In another, joy beyond compare.
Her wrinkles I could read,
Like a palm, or a deed,
If I looked. But I don't. I don't dare.
(2004)
