'Why do you br have stripes br in your forehead, br Mama? br Are you br old?' br br Not old. br But not so br young br that I cannot br see br the world contracting br upon itself br & the circle br closing br at the end. br br As the furrows br in my brow br deepen, br I can see br myself br sinking back br into that childhood br street br I walked along br with my grandfather, br thinking he was old br at sixty-three br since I was four, br as you are four br to my forty. br br Forty years br to take br the road out . . . br Will another forty br take me br back? br br Back to the street br I grew up on, br back to br my mother's breast. br back to the second br world war br of a second br child, br back br to the cradle br endlessly br rocking? br br I am young br as you are br Molly- br yet with stripes br in my brow; br I earn my youth br as you must earn br your age. br br These stripes br are decorations br for my valor- br forty years br of marching br to a war br I could not declare, br nor locate, br yet have somehow br won. br br Now, br I begin br to unwin, br unravelling br the sleeves br of care br that have br stitched up br this brow, br unravelling br the threads br that have kept br me scared, br as I pranced br over the world, br seemingly fearless, br working br without a net, br knowing br if I fell br it would br only be br into that same br childhood street, br where I dreaded br to tread br on the lines- br not knowing br the lines br would someday br tread br on me.