Invisible = Woman + Old
by Zann Carter
She once thought it would be nice to fade, to be invisible, to walk in the world without being noticed and called out by strange men.
But now she is old and each year becomes less and less noticed by anyone. She vanishes into her puff of white hair, the crevices of wrinkles,
seen only when she annoys, when it takes her too long to cross a street, to count change nickel and dime from her worn coin purse.
She speaks and gets no answer, she must tug at sleeves, seek a decibel louder -- even her voice is moving out of range,
her words inaudible to the ears of the new tribe. She reads of times and places when aged wisdom had value, when an old woman mattered,
and marvels, as her skin thins to fragile and translucent, how blue veins appear and still pulse with her life, yet she has disappeared.