So pretty when she turns sad,
Her eyes glisten like small, black stones
Washed and worn by the sea.
Her lean, fine-boned features,
Softening slowly,
Losing their distinction
Under the strain of marriage,
The demands of little children.
Hello,
She says,
Looking for the person I used to be,
Looking just long enough to see
A similar sadness in my eyes.
We go no further,
But smile in silent, solemn agreement.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved