John Cornwall

When my Grandmother married
she filled her house with mirrors,
everywhere a light that shouted out
the rights and wrongs of what she did.

Now eighty years on, widowed,
she has bared the walls,
the mirrors gathering
dust beneath the bed,

her life written out
in images she chooses
to forget, her mirrors
stern reminders of a youth

that has nothing left
to offer.

The 2River View, 2_2 (Winter 1998)