An Older Face

The photo. So flat, so stark, so still.

My face, but not mine. A stranger's will

holding the camera's gaze, unsmiling.

The eyes are the same, maybe. But something

is missing, or not yet there. A certain line

around the mouth, a weight to the chin.

Faded ink of a stamp, a country I can't quite align

with a memory. Just a blurry entry, a past I spin

into nothing. It expired years ago. Just a document

of a person I used to be, proof I existed

somewhere else, for a moment, then went.

Now, this paper thin self, quietly resisted

by the mirror. The page is cool beneath my thumb.

This face, a quiet, different sum.