Grief

---

Vanity saved my life.

I say this to people,

who know good and well

why I wanted to die,

from time to time.

And when I tell them

how the art of vanity saved my life,

they look at me

as if they heard me wrong.

If I had the time to tell them

what I mean by this rather

vain statement,

this is what I would say,

(only not so poetically):

"When my daughter flew out of my arms and was caught up into the winds of heaven,

there were simple acts of vanity that saved me from

following her

and

drying up and blowing away

and maybe

NOT

ending up

in the Good Place with her.



Those simple acts include:



Putting on makeup



Choosing my dress



Adding the jewelry



Finishing my hair



Dabbing the perfume



just as I have done



every day



for all my woman years.



Each of these vain acts buy me time:

time to stand in front of a mirror

and wash my face with tears.

And once that cleansing is complete

I can see that my face is:

A frieze of fury

A masque of mourning,

A mis en scene of sadness -

And so

step by step,

brush stroke by brush stroke

I cover over my

bloodless pallor

and paint away

the cracks of grief

(even though I know this masterpiece of subterfuge

is impermanent and brief...)

with hues of

Honey Beige, Dewberry, Lavender Ice, Cherry Stain, Charcoal, Sable and Champagne Frost

and

those long-lived women,

Mary Kay, Elizabeth and Estee too

who have handed me their lustered armaments over the years,

hand them to me again.

And every day

reinforced by the habit of my womanly vanity

I stand

in front of a mirror

and in this,

my greatest devastation,

I am still able

by blending my makeup with my tears,

to

create a face

to

face the world -

and

be the face

that my daughter

was

so

proud of."

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