The drawer squeals its secrets when its handle is pulled.
Aqua Net hair spray, brown bobby pins, red lipstick inside.
Her hair holds a million stories.
Her lips harbor unspoken dreams.
She sits by the window every morning,
putting on her face for the day,
twisting the pin curls in her hair.
The sun comes through the window offering its light.
The days begin to feel longer.
The sun leaves cracks and wrinkles in her skin.
The visitors dwindle.
The mirror feels too heavy to lift.
Her hair becomes too thin for the pins,
so the mirror remains in the drawer,
collecting dust,
until the woman it used to reflect each day,
no longer has use for mirrors.
Note: This poem is really personal to me because it is about my grandmother who died in 2014. We were really close. She loved reading. We used to go to the library together every week. I think she would have really liked Wattpad, but I didn't know about it back then. I still think of her whenever I smell Aqua Net hairspray or I see 1940's hair and red lipstick.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the Soul
PoetryPoetry for positivity, happiness, and growth. Words for those who know what it's like to take risks, create art, stand out from the crowd, have moments of self-doubt, and moments of triumph.
