Aging

Aging

Fifty
“Age is just a number”

51
A number that denotes a passage of time
52
A passage of time through space
53
Specific space
54
Around a specific star
55
In an agreed upon division of both time and space.
56

“Grow old gracefully”
57
Where “gracefully” means attractively and elegantly
58
Where brawn is more important that brain
59
…smooth away wrinkles and fine lines
60
…hide your grey
61
…try to look 10 years younger
62


“Growing old is not growing up”
63
And “youth is wasted on the young”
64
Yet we race to stay young
65
As our bodies slide towards oblivion
66


I still wonder at the Universe
67
And think I can move mountains
68
So don’t tell me I can’t and shouldn’t and ought not to
69
Because I will and I can and yes I should
70


“Today is the oldest you’ve ever been…
71
…and the youngest you’ll ever be again.”
72
Some old person said that,
73
At some point in the past
74
Eleanor Roosevelt, I believe.
75
But well before my time
76


So I stand at the intersection
77
of Life and of Death
78
of Youth and of Old Age

70-NINE
..aaannddd
80
Ready or not…
Here I come
Still looking for home base
So I can be Safe.
.
.
.
Olly olly oxen free
Found you!
You’re It!
Let's play again.

1
New life caught in an inhalation of Be-ing
2
No peeking!

Three

Threads of Grief

     I hold a tendril of sanity

with hands unsteady

       unsure 

             worrying the frayed edges 

                    with my thoughts

                                anxieties 

                                          what ifs

                                          and 

                    why nots

              and 

                what if I’m wrongs 

The tension of the passers-by

 held in the tightness of their faces

   Their dread

      symptoming into blossoming 

              dis-ease

                     PRESSES

against my ribcage

      squeezing my heart into 

palpitating stillness

My heart shatters 

And my spirit cries into the 

   miasmic howl

       searching

calling

  beseeching 

the Universe 

for release

 I no longer recognize the tendrils that I have gathered

 

while trying to weave some coherent tapestry

        of

            my

                Life

And in those moments

            grief 

            spills

            out

    Sloshing across tenuously crafted knots

                Smearing ink across pages

                     Shrieking through the holes

        adding 

            harmonic counterpoint 

   to my 

        heart-rended cry

           

And all of the threads disperse 

away 

from 

me

                I catch my breath

            in gulping  

guttural 

sobs

   

    One strand glimmers and floats towards me

        a filament of barely-there hope

    I grasp it and

wrap myself 

        around it

 Hoping for reprieve   

The grief subsides and sits once more

the sadness dims and steps to the side

And I begin my thread gathering again

   unsteady 

          unsure 

             

              determined   

I am not in mourning

   but sadness dogs my every step

I am not grieving

  but grief sits next to me every moment

Seen in Grief

You let me see you, in your grief.

Your nervous defenses lay,

forgotten,

at your feet.

You looked at me,

not in defeat,

without pretense,

with no self-conscious deference.

There was no guile,

no fear,

no worry of being seen.

It was just you,

open,

heart and soul

bared to the elements.

Your spirit cried out 

for connection,

for soothing,

for shared peace.

And yet,

it was without supplication.

It was not demanding.

It was not entitled.

It was just you.

Your strength.

Your determination.

Your beauty.

Your grief.

You.

And in that moment,
I fell in love.