Blood tells the story of your life
in heartbeats as you life it;
bones speak in the language
of death, and flesh thins
with age when up
through your pores rises
the stuff of your origin.
These days,
when I look into the mirror I see,
my grandmother's stern lips
speaking in parentheses at the corners
of my mouth of pain and deprivation
I have never known. I recognize
my father's brows arching in disdain
over the objects of my vanity, my mother's
nervous hands smoothing lines
just appearing on my skin,
like arrows pointing downward
to our common ground.
in heartbeats as you life it;
bones speak in the language
of death, and flesh thins
with age when up
through your pores rises
the stuff of your origin.
These days,
when I look into the mirror I see,
my grandmother's stern lips
speaking in parentheses at the corners
of my mouth of pain and deprivation
I have never known. I recognize
my father's brows arching in disdain
over the objects of my vanity, my mother's
nervous hands smoothing lines
just appearing on my skin,
like arrows pointing downward
to our common ground.
2 comments:
typo in the second line--it is "live" not "life"
Please explain summary of this poem
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