In the reflection of my laptop screen I see how the skin around my mouth is collecting in small wrinkles, realize my mouth is older than it feels. It reminds me of the wrinkles around the lips of my dearest aunt, her loud Irish laugh, her magical stories. She sits in a care home now, quiet and subdued by the way life is erasing her mind, wiping away all those memories, the farmhouse and the noisy children, the hours at the typewriter and long walks down prairie roads. The last time I saw her she looked lost and worried, not sure who she should be in that crowded diner, beneath that floppy hat. But the wrinkles around her mouth remember, hold onto all those years, give testimony to all that living. I smile at my reflection, notice the way my tears catch the morning light.

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