Another piece from a poem prompt in August. We were exploring the question of when we first noticed that death had at least one foot in our front door. And for some our reactions to aging.

Young Woman

Young woman rises
Stretches gracefully
Ready to begin

She turns
Towards something seen
At the corner of her eye

And is startled
By the woman
With white streaked hair

Old woman looks familiar
A bit like Mom
Yet different

Young woman and old woman
Gaze at each other
Their reflection in the mirror.

They reach out to each other
Peace be with you

– Eve

Note: I stopped dyeing my hair about 5 years ago. When I had my hair cut very short, trimming off all the dark hair, I was surprised by all the silver hair I now had. For months afterwards and it still happens occasionally, I am startled by my reflection as I pass a mirror or window. I still feel like the young woman with the very dark hair and still getting used to the woman that looks like Mom.

Mom died when she was just a little older than I am now. So, I never saw her as a very old woman. That I look like her feels like a gift.