In the Eye

Women slip from winsome
under their senescent faces –
their hands steal the looks
off youth’s eyed-embraces –

They pleasure in pastimes
of tease-tricks and flirts –
they command your heart –
their hard rules will subvert

I want to reach out
and trace your lined beauty –
of furrows and laugh lines
worn freely at forty

I will kiss your eyelids
of stitch-tightened skin –
because here is your beauty –
it is still within

Beautiful

She sat at our table
placemats squared

like her stubborn
kissed chin

with a darkened mole
on her stage-right cheek

she never meant to
say so very much

’bout maternal dis-possessions

which is our shared
inheritance

but the problem is halved.