In the days when hair was big she would stand before the oval mirror to backcomb, and, spray in my rosy eyes, I sat behind admiring lipstick as an art form, built and blotted.
I knew she powdered on professionalism, glossing over foibles, preparing for the day.
There were layers, lines drawn, new brows to arch above and accentuate truly beautiful eyes. Properly late, anxiety etched there too, and I sensed her tension where I watched and learned, transfixed.
aplaceforpoetry 
A clever observation of the art of make-up.
Apart from teenage years and early twenties – when I had not really mastered the art – and now ‘special occasions’, I don’t wear make-up. I am by no means a natural beauty, far from it, but when I was and am made-up, I just feel I look lite a tart…
Kind regards
Anna :o]
I like the words ‘Made up’ because of their various meanings. This was my mother’s day poem. Women play different roles – I guess make-up helps.
I had not considered the various meanings of ‘Made up’ so now understand.
I was made up yesterday too! Not in the make up way!
Anna :o]