I am the mirror by the front door

Framed in wood and colorful tiles
oval shaped like a long face

She glances at me
but less these days

I remind her to stand up straight
and keep that inner smile

Lately, I notice
her shoulders drooping

Somethings going on.

I am the hallway mirror

light birchwood
geometric designs engraved in every grain

As she passes by,
only her head appears
gliding across my glass

I see you
walking fairly well today

The limp is gone.
those hip replacements--
no one would know
You hide them well. 

I am the bathroom mirror

Of course, I'm always here.

When she brushes her teeth
When she splashes water on her face to wake up
When she brushes her hair

She doesn't wear much make up these days
No more black-lined cat eyes
Her glam days are over

Now she reaches for moisturizer
Her skin is changing--
thinner now,

We are the bedroom mirrors

Full length, floor to ceiling
We've been here for over fifty years
long before her arrival

Before she gets out of bed,
whether she likes it or not,

she sees us
and we see her

Yet she doesn't mind
she is not vain,
but believes in knowing what is

I am the gold gilded mirror in the studio 

I have watched her reinvent herself
more times than I can count:

dancer
photographer
poet
journalist
teacher
meditation and yoga guru
chi gong teacher 
dreamer

I remember when dancing
was her profession

Those were the days--

pulling in her belly,
wishing for perfect lines

Then came RA
Then two hip replacements
Then spinal stenosis

No more high extentions
No more grand jetes

I worried about her

But life keeps moving--
and so does she

Down to earth she came

landing softly
in gentle Chi Gong

Now she practices and teaches:

pushing the waves
a wild duck swimming
a dancing crane
cloud hands stirring up the sky
catching morning dew in a jade plate
a dragon swimming 

Her new way of moving becomes her

A new form of bliss found at age seventy-eight
bringing peace
tranquility

Chi Gong enables her
to continue what she loves

teaching
sharing
growing
with a community of others

And somehow,

through every movement,
every reflection,
every loss,
every beginning

Life becomes and is,

a different kind of grace.

Genie Nakano
June 12, 2026