I’m not sure who should be blamed for the fact that I’ve been tamed. It was no parent nor any spouse that made me tranquil as a mouse. Thinking it out, I must admit, no human was the cause of it. The thing that leavened my aggression was simply time’s lengthy progression.
My body is substandard, defective, under par. It does okay for walking if I don’t walk very far, but at jogging mile after mile I would not be my best. My left knee hath a hitch in it and so it doth protest.
And as for aesthetics, it takes no art detective to discover all the many ways that I am defective. My skin is pale and blotchy and will not stay in place. It sags here on my underarms and here below my face.
My fingernails are ridgy, my toes starting to curl. Everything is different from when I was a girl. And though I have less hair now in places where it’s been, When I go in search of it, I find it on my chin.
Gravity has claimed those spots where once I was most perky. That neck so firm and regal now resembles most a turkey. The pounds that all my life I have been struggling to lose, as by magnetism have settled where they choose.
Some ladies age most gracefully. I fear I am not one. Of all the charms of aging I’ve not captured even one. So I guess I’ll just dress funny with a little flair. Put shadow on my eyelids and feathers in my hair.
I’ll jangle all my bracelets and put on all my rings. I’ll give away old lady clothes and wear more stylish things. At least I’ll finish my last yard with a little dash. What I lack in all the rest I’ll make up with panache.
Substandard is the prompt word today.Photo borrowed from the Internet.
The greater portion of the day had already passed away by the time she raised her head and deigned to quit her lonely bed. She fed the cat and fed the dog, then hit the button and fed her blog. The words poured out like kibble, then she went back to bed again! It’s true she is a lazy bones, ignoring doorbells, texts and phones until it is her choice to rise to face the possible surprise that the night might still present— wondering where the daylight went. ‘”Here sleeps,” her epitaph will say, “one who slept her life away.”
In case you are wondering,
(This is not me. I’m up at eight to answer pounding on my gate.
It is my alter-ego, perhaps—
that side of me that I let lapse—
that draws me into daylight naps
and tempts me to ignore the phone.
That asks for afternoons alone.)
Toes peeking over, eyes cast away. I do not want to look today. Time enough when time is over. It’s true I’ve ceased to be a rover, for though I’ve seen the Nile’s beginning, I can feel my chances thinning for ever standing at its end. I’m feeling too close to the bend to chance the risks travel might take. I’m living less for living’s sake.
My house and garden fill my world, increasingly. My life is curled fast on itself more frequently. “Becoming” has turned into “be.” It is not giving up on life so much as drawing back from strife. Surely, now’s the time for this, as I approach that big abyss.
Those of faith are sure they know the glorious ending to this show we’ve seen via nature’s invitation; and yet the minister’s oration you must admit, is speculation. That’s why as I stand toe-to-air, I have no need to see what’s there. Whatever’s written far below, it’s where at last, we all will go.
Oh to be nimble, unfettered and young–– heedless, with yesterday’s breath on my tongue. Scuffed shoes unpolished and hair all awry, with nary a reason for white shirt or tie.
Chucking small stones, shooting rubber bands. Gritty black fingernails, scandalous hands sporting sand from the sandbox or silky black loam from digging for earthworms or sliding on home.
I’d like to be lithesome and agile and spry–– a long life in front of me before I die; but my years are numbered, my life’s nearly over. Gone is my past as a rambler and rover.
I sit on my porch and watch younger men take off for those places I’ve already been; knowing my wild years are too far behind me. I’m an Energizer bunny with no one to wind me.
Maddeningly, although I know I still dream, I forget them the moment my eyes open. Instead, I usually wake up with the first line of a poem on my mind. In this case, I used it as the second line of this morning’s poem.