in open eyes and startled hands
discovery is made:
mud and dirt and dust make brands
that even time won't fade.
the mirror reflects lazily
a painful, selfish truth:
in years the lines, at last, can be
loss that once hid in youth.
wisdom gained and beauty lost
create a new idea
of womanhood, the ancient cross,
that even virgins feel.
a woman may explore herself
along the monthly path
but silent secrets always felt
create a passive wrath.
and as her face takes on the past
the woman's place is found
among her sisters, placing last,
and bringing ends around.