Old Enough to Know Better
 
We thought the real dividends of those sisters’ struggles
would pay out once we were unyoked from childrearing.
Admittedly a little pang at the odd chum whose youthful beauty
like a rose in winter blooms on, but no time for menopausal angst 
 
when in scarecrow couture, we show more concern
for havoc wreaked by weather on our plants, than on our faces.
Become Fun Granny teaching grand kids to play poker and swear
or dye our hair a raffish blue and do the rounds of summer festivals.
 
Then it seems the secret of eternal youth is out, and we must sand skin
to a shine, pump up lips like linos, tattoo eye-brows drag queen arch…
And those of us adamant that, ‘’You won’t catch me-’ , still find our spirits
sagging with our skin at the thought of finding ourselves déclassé.
 
But sisters should be savvy enough to know, there is no fixing the clock on
hands, neck, décolleté, where gnarling, crumpling, creeping
contradicts their face’s new youthful façade, and always at odds
will be their eyes, whose seasoned expression cannot be expunged.

Fiona Sinclair

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Fiona Sinclair would be pleased to hear them.