Two Faces Past

The old woman and the baby
hurl shafts of light at me
from their frame.

The old woman and the baby:
one taken from me by death
the other by life.

Holding the baby
the woman smiles
through a curtain of wrinkles.

The baby is smiling also
but looking away,
taken with some elsewhere delight.

I touch the old woman's
face; fingertips
are requited with glass.

I cradle the baby in her frame.
Nonexistent to me now
except for the missing of her.



Copyright © Susan Love Fitts, 2001