REFLECTIONS
Catching sight of myself
In the glass shelter of the bus stop
I see my reflection
Short, tubby, middle-aged
In a padded red coat
* * *
No longer the object of desire I once was
Or thought I was
He made me think so anyway.
One wet, rainy afternoon
When, unexpectedly, we lay together
But that was a long time ago
He’s with another now
* * *
I’m glad his memories of me
Will always be bright,
Not grey-haired, not ageing
Or battered by the world as I am now
* * *
This way, he’ll always remember me
The way I used to be
And in his mind, I’ll always be young
As, once again, I’ll dance lightly
And smile.
Julie Rosenfield
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