"All this happened, more or less."

Heirloom By Amber Counts September, 2016 I sit at my grandmother’s vanity, And her eyes stare back at me. Well, not her eyes, exactly – Mine lack that degree of warmth – Her twinkle of wisdom – But the knitted eyebrows are there – Furrows that rise into dramatic peaks When worried about my family Or relax into sophisticated arches When at peace, Over pools of empathic blue. I used to open the drawers And peer inside with the excitement Only a child can muster at the wonders within – Lipstick tubes made of metal from long ago, Dramatically Different Moisturizing Lotion And the trial-size gifts with purchase That accompanied it, Wrinkle creams that were utterly unnecessary On the smoothest, kindest face. Beauty from within belied the years, As youth was always a state of mind. My arms rest on the smooth edge Of the worn, wooden top Where the paint has eroded away Under decades of graceful arms resting there – Arms that ...