Reflections on a Winter Window

I stand before the glass – a shocking sight,

too white, too big, in stocking cap and coat

and glasses, too.  Is this the girl who wrote:

I’m god’s frail angel, trembling toward the light?

I could not be this woman in the pane –

What could she know of trembling heavenly bliss?

If I’d known back when that I would look like this

I’d have put a bullet in my trembling brain.

And missed the snow upon the redbud tree.

And missed the sleeping spaniel’s velvet ear.

And missed the graceful green frivolity

that rises as the turning of the year.

For though this flesh may less than solid be,

I thank it for the love it’s shown me here.