she is mortal
I. anti-wrinkle eye gels
i think my grandmother is afraid of death;
running from the reality that is chasing her,
she spends her days
behind a mask,
sculpted to hide her age.
so she sits and she stares
at the cracked window of her soul,
slathering her canvas
that has been etched with her stories,
with creams and suffocations
to erase the pain, regret, and sorrow
from her time.
II. youth-activating serum
for the ground
has broken beneath her,
chasing her to the end of her story.
as she breathes in the sweet scent of her youth,
she looks to her past with regret.
surrounded by a collection of
torn photographs and letters,
the rosy hue
slips through her fingers.
III. root cover-up hair dye
“cover up the grey hairs,
cover up the scars,
cover up the wrinkles,
for they have multiplied like the stars.”
but where she sees her end, i see her journey: