My Mother

There are figures and numbers in her skin,
Different words and numbers long and short in her grin,
All things she calls home, but only in words,
All across her age worn face and lying unfurled,
But if you look at them closely, you will see,
They are the names and homes of every person she meets,
For it's obvious that she loves them all if you only take a look,
At how her face has turned into an address book,
One name is darker than the others,
It's the name of who she'd played in the sun with all day, her brother,
Another name is much softer than most,
This name took care of her when with cancer she was diagnosed,
All are creased and written into the wrinkles of her face,
As memories to cherish and a reminder about these people to pray,
So when most people become old,
And their beauty is nothing to be extolled,
She will always be beautiful when she looks at her face,
For she has a face full of names of people she's loved and embraced.

-anna sluder

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