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: