Why the idea of Botox leaves me frozen
The IndependentTHE LILIES It began with my face; it had sunken in slightly On the cheekbones and was sagging gently at the jawline. But one woman’s newspaper revelation as she celebrated Her facial injections and the years that evaporated From between her ears, persuaded me to book myself in. Nearer the time I realised how I recognise the spaces between My eyes, my cheekbones, my nose and chin, and how my lips Are real to me despite their loss of depth and symmetry. Fear grew, fear of losing sight of myself as myself, Fear of seeing a cushion-cheeked version looking better slept, Better managed, better preserved, yet only temporarily Unless I now subscribed to be removed incrementally further From the face I always knew. I pour myself a glass of wine And sit with my dogs at the end of the day, crumbling before lilies That do not judge as they silently sweat their heady scent Until it saturates the evening air with their exuberance, Even as they spill their petals in their race towards decay.
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