Grandmother
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)
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