Transparent, translucent, opaque
This is how my life has gone, a blur
Of unknowing, dumb luck, mistakes

I never had a say, my narrow path cut
For me at birth and still, above me only
Pure, clean, space illuminates my eyes

Softens the planes of my face. What
You see: Girl. Woman. Old woman
Inside, without the mirror of your eyes

I stayed the same, only the frame
Changed. I used to be a family, but the
Men are gone. No more suckling, no

Huddling in winter’s depths around a fire
Sewing, darning, murmuring stories into
Each others’ tired ears, gone the days

Of labor and of love. Now I sit, waiting
To be captured by this artist who thinks
He knows my name, but I am hiding

In stark folds of linen at my neck, in
Scalding tea, a lover’s tender skin, slick
Blood of stillbirth, simple gesture a

Hand makes. From joy to rage, despair
Etched into places he cannot see, into
Things I have not done—read a book

Traveled to another city, birthed
Another woman, had my say
Arc of my life flattened across time

And space. Kitchen to bedroom
Hearth to field, father to husband
Husband to grace. Alone as dark looms

Light comes, transparent, translucent
Opaque. The little death sleep makes
No matter. All falls away with age

© 2014 Karen Holden