Routine

Every morning, she goes to the mirror
and brushes her long gray hair,
and sees her mother, and draws
the brush through familiar pathways.

Every morning, she goes to the mirror
and tells her mother her day.
Bingo in the Community Room.
The high school chorus Christmas carols.

She has good hair.  It's still there,
and it still gets knots, and
the vision of her mother is clear
every morning when she comes to the mirror.

Working together, they go through it all,
until the knots are smooth,
and the lines drop easily again,
every morning when she comes to the mirror.

Every morning when she comes to the mirror,
she strokes downward and downward.
Then draws her hair up again.
Strength from the well of her own being

Nancy Fay

If you've any comments on this poem, Nancy Fay would be pleased to hear from you.