I wanted, for my sixth birthday,
a beach ball and a bathing suit,
but it wasn't in the stars that year;
I cried and life went on.
I'm not sure if I had a mirror in my room, then.
We moved in third grade and things not so good happened,
broken shards from the mirror cut me deeply
and happy school was suddenly over,
and I was nineteen years old on a party treadmill
running too slow to keep the pace,
so I fell to the ground
catching a glimpse of shining glass on the way down
dropping off my sins at the feet of my father,
and next I was
married and pregnant.
The baby cried, and I rocked her in a yellow room on
a brown rocker, and I glanced at the light from the mirror,
but shied away from the swollen image. No time for that.
I somehow turned 35, in the midst of a career change
and about to make a life change and accept a death.
I saw my Daddy get on the Silver Streak, and ride to heaven,
and I was weak with grief
lying on my side in our Georgia house,
looking at the mirror,
in a flash we moved back to Florida.
I was 42 and my breast had to be cut off, and my hair fell out.
I peeled back the bandage,
and for the first time looked very closely in the mirror
at multiple wounds and saw
what was missing,
at least part of it, half of it.
I wept for my losses, and soon watched my mother,
after a season of pain, die peacefully.
We raised our daughter to be strong, and she moved out young, presenting us with a son-in-law and made me a grandmother, and I started a new job, again.
I daily began to check the mirror to see
that things were in the right place.
I wrote an email where I worked at the time and sent it to the whole world.My words shone like a mirror, but blinders block the light.
I lost that battle,
but I won the war.
I stood once again on the precipice of change,
and my husband and I started our own business,
and I try to not forget to gaze at the mirror daily,
and to keep vinegar and old newspapers
in the bottom cabinet
below the sink.
a beach ball and a bathing suit,
but it wasn't in the stars that year;
I cried and life went on.
I'm not sure if I had a mirror in my room, then.
We moved in third grade and things not so good happened,
broken shards from the mirror cut me deeply
and happy school was suddenly over,
and I was nineteen years old on a party treadmill
running too slow to keep the pace,
so I fell to the ground
catching a glimpse of shining glass on the way down
dropping off my sins at the feet of my father,
and next I was
married and pregnant.
The baby cried, and I rocked her in a yellow room on
a brown rocker, and I glanced at the light from the mirror,
but shied away from the swollen image. No time for that.
I somehow turned 35, in the midst of a career change
and about to make a life change and accept a death.
I saw my Daddy get on the Silver Streak, and ride to heaven,
and I was weak with grief
lying on my side in our Georgia house,
looking at the mirror,
in a flash we moved back to Florida.
I was 42 and my breast had to be cut off, and my hair fell out.
I peeled back the bandage,
and for the first time looked very closely in the mirror
at multiple wounds and saw
what was missing,
at least part of it, half of it.
I wept for my losses, and soon watched my mother,
after a season of pain, die peacefully.
We raised our daughter to be strong, and she moved out young, presenting us with a son-in-law and made me a grandmother, and I started a new job, again.
I daily began to check the mirror to see
that things were in the right place.
I wrote an email where I worked at the time and sent it to the whole world.My words shone like a mirror, but blinders block the light.
I lost that battle,
but I won the war.
I stood once again on the precipice of change,
and my husband and I started our own business,
and I try to not forget to gaze at the mirror daily,
and to keep vinegar and old newspapers
in the bottom cabinet
below the sink.
John 8:32
"And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
Peace. Love, Linda
Peace. Love, Linda
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