a wrinkle in time written on the lawn

"If wrinkles must be written upon our brows, let them not be written upon the heart. The spirit should not grow old."

James A Garfield

Would you understand what I meant,
if I said I wish I were the type of person
who planned to overseed the lawn
this weekend? Could I be that person,
knowing at least seven people still cast me
as the villain in their life? Does it
still matter, if they wouldn’t recognize
me now—having grown into a middle-aged
woman’s body, no longer wearing youthful
clothes? Do you know if the neighbors see
the bare patches on my lawn and hate me too?

God, what is left,
when all you've done
is still written on your face?