WEBVTT

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Aging.

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She avoids mirrors,
but some day she

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stares at the lines changing her
face slowly, silently spreading

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like new roots around her eyes.

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At first she feared
the loosening,

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her skin separating itself
gradually from her bones.

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She taught herself to stroke
the bark of weathered trees,

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to like the feel of the
survivor of storms and snows.

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Sitting in the afternoon
sun eyes closed,

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she imagines she's
lying in the warm Earth,

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her skin a rich soil in which
the thin roots move, sprout

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wildflowers.

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