Silver~
“How many years of beauty do I have left?
she asks me.
How many more do you want?
Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.
When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life.
When your hair is aflame
with winter
and you have decades of
learning and leaving and loving
sewn into
the corners of your eyes
and your children come home
to find their own history
in your face.
When you know what it feels like to fail
ferociously
and have gained the
capacity
to rise and rise and rise again.
When you can make your tea
on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon
and still have a song in your heart
Queen owl wings beating
beneath the cotton of your sweater.
Because your beauty began there
beneath the sweater and the skin,
remember?
This is when I will take you
into my arms and coo
YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING
you’ve come so far.
I see you.
Your beauty is breathtaking.”
~ Jeannette Encinias
The main photo at the top of this post is of my beloved Mom’s hands – age 91. The photo above Jeannette Encinias’ poem is of my Mom at age 90 in Bryce Canyon at sunrise, and the photo below is of my Mom with her Great Granddaughter Maddie at six weeks old. My Mom was breathtakenly beautiful.
Beauty at any age, at every age. Ages 90 and Six Weeks, Mom & Maddie
