It catches my eye in the rear view mirror, one hair,
silvery
At the next red light, I extract it like a noxious weed from a lawn
because I see myself another way,
carelessly walking on a wall, long legs, sparkly miniskirt
"Would you like to see my roses?" he said, looking up,
feathered brown hair slopping into his eyes
I would and I did
Now, pieces of a marriage, scattered, a carpet of fallen leaves that I scuff through
Sometimes I wake up in the dead of night, forgetful, smiling, but there's only a cat, slumped on my hip, sighing its soft snores
"Your skin is nice," the bartender said,
"for someone your age."
Worse will come:
not one silver thread
but hundreds, spooling out of my head
lines like rivers on a map delicately branching in every direction
I'll be wise but unable to walk on walls due to brittle bones
so I'll watch my daughter walk them