Sunday Poems - August 29, 2021
Grandmother Moon Takes a Personal Interest
Grandmother Moon
shifts from maid to crone
in endless variations.
She knocks on my door
I hide, not wanting her wisdom
or her transformations.
I want to stay frozen in youth.
"Gray hair, wrinkles
are they the price of wisdom?"
"Nothing stays the same," she says,
offering me a handkerchief.
With light strokes she paints
laugh lines, jowls, and silver in my hair.
I accept her artistry.
By Cyn Bagley (Oct 2004) Published in Inside Out: A Gathering of Poets