I noticed her
one day as I examined
all my sags in the mirror
It was then I knew—
the girl who had been me
was gone—kidnapped
into the cavernous valleys
of wrinkles and wattles
swallowed up by spreading waists
and hips and graying hairs.
As I looked deeply
into the eyes, I could
see her panicked fear.
I could feel her trembling
and sighing such a
quivering sob because
she realized that entrapment
really does come to pass.
If only I could let her out
as Michelangelo might free
his sculptures from cold stone,
she would be free
to run again across cool meadows,
to climb high trees, and
to dance with boys until
the night died in the sun's embrace.
Instead, I close my eyes
to her pleading
only to feel Death's
impatient fingers strumming
upon my shoulder reminding me
that he smugly waits
for us, his quarry,
to give up our fight
and be resigned to his
easy conquest.

Copyright 2009 by Dorothy K. Fletcher. 
Used with the author's permission.