She is older than I.
Long years of acquiescence
mark lines on her face, trail silver through her hair.
She is wiser than I; does not spend herself
on pointless struggle.
Defends herself against demons;
does not try to destroy them.
She is stronger than I;
daily she goes down
into the dark of herself;
faces her fears, knows their names,
endures them.
She is sparer than I;
stripped of the clinging things of life
stands, only herself.
Crowds part around her,
hurry past, avert their gaze;
will not acknowledge her
where she stands,
wiser, sparer, stronger than I.