But I'm Old Now
But I’m old now. Not
walker with green-yellow tennis balls old, not
yet.
But those who were young mothers alongside me are
grey (or white-haired) now.
Our faces, lined with lives more lived than not yet lived.
Our jowls, softened with years.
Each summer, I float in blue pool water on my back,
face tipped to the sun.
The joy of it makes me weep. I
take less for granted.
A good day is when I can
read for six hours and not trouble
to work. I work
sometimes, but my career is more past
tense than future.
I found myself
long ago.
My soul
dominates mostly these days,
except
about pizza, the body
still holds sway.
Just as I failed
to learn the stories of my own grandparents (I should have
forced them to tell me
their secrets),
my grandchildren
won’t know me. Not really.
Afternoon naps are more frequent and
sweeter. And
even so, I have work yet to do. I’m making plans
Still.
