Cleaning a mirror

I rub it hard

Am I rubbing away the reflection I see?

A mother, a wife, a caretaker, a cook

Don’t see a woman I used to be.

I see long weary nights under my eyes

I see worry shining grey in my black hair

I see silent frustration in the creases of my smile

I see compromises in shapelessness of my body

My Reflection, when did I stop caring for me?

Reflecting back it was easy to see,

Was always easier to cut corners from my needs

To ignore the wishes, dreams, aspirations that remained buried in me.

Now old, tired, grey, past the wrong side of age,

Is it too late to resuscitate the dying heart buried under the ashes of grey?

Would I be ever known any other way besides the prefix to my work resume?

I keep rubbing harder and faster

Stopping at a determined glint in my eyes

Buried under dark circles and late nights.

A smile lit my tired line face,

Yes I still had spark, and grit to do my thing!