Second Nature to Me Now

As if she is brand new,
I touch the soft folds,
remark at the marks,
notice the skin and
its propensity to
count time with lines.
There is no preparation
for this reflection,
this time spent
considering
the countenance.
They call it pause
for good reason,
as these mirrored moments
will attest,
for it is here I pause
— and pause again —
as if she is brand new.

Poem ©2017, Jen Payne. National Poetry Month, 21. Image: Standing Odalisque Reflected in a Mirror, Henri Matisse.

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