In the dusk-painted hours,
I keep company with
the dead,
listen to them sing poetry, sing revolution,
sing about everything, nothing, and all in between.
Who says I have to like Lawrence Welk once I hit 65? I'm 65 if I say I am 65, junior!
I live wild still, through my music, their music, ours...
Doilies don't dare
to show face 'round my home.
Its crevices tick-tock life...my life;
pictures, captured moments kept shiny, new...
I can't see them clear unless I check the walls.
Knick-knacks that used to be special, had lives as gifts
from loved ones...hell, now they just catch dust
& time.
I like to rise early,
try to capture sun-magic,
like children catch lightning bugs,
& keep it in a jar
where I can clasp it close at night - or day
when old hurts bleed.
You can't never stop memories,
a waterfall
of your
glories,
griefs...
I laugh, no old woman's cackle
but the same laugh I always had, will have
to think of what I thought age would be.
Flowered dresses, baking, pinching rosy cheeks
up at dawn (ok, this one is true), fancy-silly-feathery red hats
& donning purple, medical alert bracelets, quavering tones,
fear - always the fear, loneliness, the casting-away, the loss of me...
It may be that for some,
but not I. NOT I.
I am still & always me - not defined, confined
or hell - refined (never a lady, always a gal).
I live each day as best I can; not hide in fear nor tremble at maybes.
How can one be lonely, when memories are yours to beckon?
I still can't cook or bake & the pizza delivery boy won't let me
pinch his cheeks but oh, how I love to watch him walk away. I cuss
& converse in strident tones, I know my deepest truths...
& if I fall, I damn well get up,
or wear my piss-n-vinegar self out hollerin' for help.
Music fills my ears, riding on a storm
& I smile (toothily I might add!), sing along,
cruise the clouds; age spotted, wrinkled & sipping my beer.
The one truth I know? I'm a shell
& the scars & lines that grace me tell my story,
just so many threads in the tapestry I wove.
I would stand in awe, as Frodo did,
to hear a minstrel say,
"Now I shall sing to you of Red-Tressed Jenn &
the Ride of Her Life!"
I am youth in a Halloween costume
& I think I see my friend...
wonder where he found that scythe?
Gold trophy winner
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