Figuring Out Life While Aging
Sometimes the mirror moves showing me what I’d rather not see. Memories shift and reform revealing different stories, painfully clear now. We wear such narrow glasses spotlighting one version, blind to and blurring peripheral possibilities.
I wrote this in university, after realizing that I could write something and call it a poem, that I had a poetic voice.
The Jester smiles and grimaces - juggling balls, words. emotions. People applaud the gesture.
It is the time of green mists surrounding grey branches as trees begin again. Daffodils abound, and dandelions replicate, reflecting the brightening sun. The earth is warming as buds move to blooming. and green shoots thrust upwards. Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!
The reassuring bitterness of cold coffee while waiting for news
As transient as a breath or the cresting of a wave, our days flash by. from dust to dust with this sparkling lovely moment we cling to and must surrender.
The frailty of the body when hurt or simply aging, is humbling, and astounding. Pride rises like a toddler’s mimicking the whole-bodied - “I did it!” proclaimed about what used to be easy. March 2021
The voice that speaks what I don’t know that I know is deep and ironic, speaking aloud so I can hear what was hidden within me.
Against the dark The darker mass of trees Outside the curtain and bamboo blinds Of my past. In bed awake, Watching the dark lighten And the trees hint at green. What happens In the new day?
A God that doesn’t have to be bribed or placated. A God whose womb I exist within. A God who died to know the pain of life,
If God is a question calling me, I evade but yearn to answer. If God is an answer, how can I live with what I can’t understand? If God is a promise I made under water can I hold my breath in the desert? If God is the whole and holy world, how can I birth myself within?
