Lifelines

You ask me
about the lines on my face
precious child
    (your skin plump
     smooth
     its only adornment
     that spray of freckles over your nose.)
Why, these lines hold
my life stories
like grooves in an old record
hold music.
Some – see these tracks here? –
were etched
hard and deep
that year we lost Thomas
oh, it was a long time ago, my dear…
the memory softens but the
lines persist.
And this one?
From worry, I suppose
years of it
for all my other children
     (yes, your daddy is one)
and mothers will worry.
Never mind that, lovey,
feel these crinkles beside my eyes.
Now, these
formed slowly over a very long time
not from sorrow but
from repeated laughter –
yes, that’s right!
Every smile
leaves a tiny imprint that deepens
the ones that came before and
holds every joy that follows
in a soft hollow
right here
beside my eyes.
And so it will be for you, sweet girl:
the stories of your life written
in lines.