Face Lift

Face Lift

They peel her face like an olive,
old kisses, once foot printing
her brow, now amputated.
Cloistering off unknown,
in a jar? Mausoleum?
The other’s face took tight,
Switched and stitched,
conspiring with new bones,
The new eyes grip the mirror,
she nods at a reflection.
Doctors wrap her head in scarves,
so slick and white, and clinging
with luck. Her mouth--
like an inviting sepulcher,
recognizes the echo of lungs.
Before the surgery she swallowed
her eyelashes so to recall
old flutters and lovers’ fingertips.
Now she smiles with lips that
mothered babies she never,
not once, stroked to sleep