‘We stare at the image in the mirror and hope to see the blank white canvas

Innocent and clean beginning where life had not yet written its story

We hope to be surprised some fine day that all has been wiped from its pages

But truth brings a different kind of experience, one we don’t quite comprehend

We see the lines pointing to the dark circles mopped in half-moon shapes

That highlight the puffiness under the eyes, and we sigh ever so slightly . . . quietly

The faint hairs in places that carry shame and the permanently etched frown

Of micro lines leading down the top lip, giving away the days that we have lived

It is time to cover the whole canvas and hide the story that has been painted

By a hand with no right . . . to gouge a history so deeply and honestly

Vulnerable to all who look, hiding has never been so difficult or so accusatory

What am I? I ask as I trowel on the skin-covering paint, hoping to hide the facts

I am a masterpiece! I answer as I stop and put down the tell-tale stained sponge

I stare again at the canvas in the reflection, and I remember the slow lines appearing

When the story began to gain momentum in the most exciting chapter of life

And a weathered frown from the stress of family life moved it towards maturity

The folds and curtains hiding the glacier skin that once tempted a passerby

Now, a disguise to hide the wisdom which threatens to expose itself to the world

And they think the aging canvas is lacking because it is exciting and fulfilled

It is a masterpiece with a story of courage, power, love, and honesty whilst the lines

Simply sing their chorus, arranged so perfectly . . . so uniquely, with open humility

To cover up that masterpiece is to place an incredible story in a box in the basement

And to forget that there is a tale to tell, one that needs to be seen to be believed!

(Editor: Dorothy Turner)