Friday, February 18, 2005

watching my mother in the morning

My mother paints her face in the morning.
Her vanity is ugly:
the bleached curls
sit delicately on her shoulders,
bouncing as she shifts her weight
(every curl has its perfection).
Her face is beautiful.

Lines on her face
pave her experiences;
they show her age.
Cover those wide, gaping
graffiti over the years,
until you look
It is perfectly done.
She is still ugly.

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