Enmeshed Magazine

I view my mother through

child's eyes

Her age has no bearing on me, now

wrinkles and crows feet

To me she is immortalized in memory of

a time when she was my world.

Still is.

My sister is my own reflection, and

though we age alongside one another I

think ourselves young; rambunctious and

eager as only children are. As we

scrambled outside together and basked

in the backyard where we lay.

To my friends I see them as I first met

them and put their names to their young

faces.

What do you mean they are now adults?

In my mind, of a happier time, they are

but 7, as old as I imagine myself to be.

Not a woman of twenty,

But of a child I imagine myself to be.

Through others eyes I can only imagine.