It Was a Bright Sunshiny Day.

The kind of day that reveals dust bunnies under chairs and tufts of cat hair on dark clothing.

It’s also the kind of day when other, harsher things are apt to appear.  And in the mirror, no less. A bit like dust bunnies and cat hairs, but not as easily dismissed.

“Has the time come?” you ask yourself, as you stare at your face.  Or is it past time?  Is it too late to prop up the sagging jowels, tighten the crepe-like neck, and smooth out the wrinkles? 

Surely, you think, plastic surgeons could feather out those deep creases and crevices.  “There’s so much we can do,” they’ll say.  They’ll take close-up pictures to make their case. The pitiful “befores” and the promising “afters.”  The choice is clear, and time may be of the essence.

Happily, you recently made note of just such a doctor.  He’s performed miracles for friends.  “I’m just not quite ready,” you’ve said so far.  But today feels different. You pick up the phone and make the call.

While you’re on “hold” you leaf through a book of poetry by Susan Mrosek, whose wry drawings and free verse you enjoy.  A single page is earmarked.  You wonder why.  You turn to it and re-read the following:

As she ripened, she toyed with correcting her facial

landscape, but decided it would be a shame

to lose track of where she’d been.

And you quietly hang up the phone.

Drawing courtesy of Susan Mrosek, at