Traces of the Girl

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her

In a mirror or shop window,

See traces of the girl she used to be.

Critical of the gained weight,

Disappearing definition,

Laughter lines

And silver threads in her hair.

I try to love her,

Feel her struggle up the stairs,

Fingers numb and tangled,

Unable to remember

What she’s doing there;

Groping in the dark

For names

And words –

It used to be so easy.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her,

See traces of the girl

That used to be me.

  

© Kim M. Russell, 2016

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