An Old Woman
The past has come apart
events are vagueing
the future is a seedless pod
the present pain.
Not even pain has that precision
with which it struck youth.
Years like moths
erode internal organs
hanging or falling
in a spoiled closet.
Does you mirror bedevil you?
Or is the impossible
possible to senility?
How could the erstwhile
agile and slim self--
that narrow silhouette--
come to contain
this huge incognito--
this bulbous stranger--
only to be exorcised by death?
Dilation has entirely dominated
your long reality.
Mina Loy's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (An Old Woman by Mina Loy )
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