Male Pattern Blindness
Being of a certain age,
she stares at her wrinkles first
in any mirror
as if to watch them is to stop them,
then checks to see
if the skin she believes in
still lies tight over bone
like one more day of sound ice
between her drifting ship and the shore.
Being a woman, her mirrors tell truth
to its future degree,
but the mirrors of men
stay fogged with mens’ younger selves.
Men see WAS in their mirrors,
not IS or WILL BE.
Believe it or not
this is the kindest blindness
because it extends to us.
Deep in the vast dark irises
of the eyes of men
who have loved us longest
we women keep a radiant space,
like stars.
Year on year,
our men perceive no change in lovely us:
their way home,
their unalterable sky.