The young maiden,
who swore she would climb trees until she was 80,
and the mother of abundant breast milk and clinging babies
are gone,
and in the mirror
there is someone new.
Perhaps it was gradual,
swearing to drink more water,
to go on a carb free diet,
to walk 30 minutes a day,
to eat less sugar,
to go to bed earlier,
Perhaps stress and
years of sorrow and heartbreak,
or years of loss and gaping wounds,
of marriage and divorce,
of babies taking first steps
and of children wanting to die,
of saying yes and
of being forced,
of being accepted and of being ostracized,
of being embraced and of being misunderstood,
of diabetes and hypertension,
Hair loss and tooth loss,
unanswered quests and truths revealed,
these women
once with pouty lips and trustful eyes
now gaze
at the transformation of time,
of years gone by,
of grey strands of hair
and healing gums,
wondering with horror,
wondering if the bottom has just dropped out
from under them,
from under her,
wondering if poetry will sound the same,
and if she is still a wild woman,
or just a toothless crone?