Awefully Proud

My grown-up girl,
I’d like to say,
It seems as if
Just yesterday
The tender age
Of twenty-two
Was what the world’d
Tattooed on you.
We watched the moon
Both rise and sink,
Then Sunday’s sun
Fell on the ink
And, lo, the digits
Hadn’t changed!
(It’s possible
They’d rearranged
But who can tell
With palindromes?
It’s not like they
Were chromosomes
Which might express
A sequence change
With eyebrow hands
Or something strange
Like fingers sprouting
From your cheeks,
But overnight?
That stuff takes weeks!)
My point is,
You’re still twenty-two,
And I am still
In awe of you.

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Am There, Doing That

We walk inside and turn around
Then track the palindrome back down
And out the door through which we came
Both entrée and egress the same
In all respects except reversed
Like Sisyphus we all are cursed
To disarray then make our beds
To first lay down then raise our heads
To fall in love then…
Huh. That’s odd.
I’m still in love?
There is a God!

Calindromendar

As mirrors propped along a peak
Transform the dawn to setting sun
So every date this mid-May week
Reflects the way it’s just begun

It doesn’t work across the sea
Where D/M/Y’s the date-form rule
But as my Grandmama taught me
With M/D/Y it’s pretty cool