Like a relief map of the Grand Canyon
Like old dry leather, yet velvety soft
Dozens of years of smiles
And cries put them there
Perpetual souvenirs of how awful
And how wonderful her life had been
I recall gazing quizzically at them
Reaching up and touching them
Unsure why they were there
Questioning if I would have them
When I grew up. I do. And now I know
