Monday, October 16, 2006

Reading Hieroglyphs.

She feels the cobwebs touch her face,
ones she’d banished an age ago,
and tries to brush away the time
that’s built up in the bumps and furrows,
furtive and slow.

The mirror’s face no longer smooth
as vellum, freshly stretched,
but an old sand-cracked papyrus
replete with history sketched
in timeworn hieroglyphs
that she reads like braille,
fingers trembling.

Then, slowly tracing her her eyes’ deltas,
memories smile back down the years

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