If I look behind me as an old woman,
silvered and tired, plump and forgotten
honored and pitied, floating on the ice,

The days were long at times, youth spent angry
at the injustice that was stability unrecognizable by my
troubled adolescent mind.

Praise this moment I sit within, the air warms my arms,
my belly full, coffee hot, praise this moment, yes.

When I look back as an old woman I hope to find all the days
I savored each day left with my son, listening to his whispers through a closed bedroom door, waiting for a glimpse as he passes from room to room.

As an old woman will there finally be no more injustice? Will people know it is all about their own hard work? Make the world for your self, especially now. We all gotta eat, and ain't no one can take THAT  away.

looking back now, I missed all the chances, running forward.

Sometimes I think,
I should have stayed.
Til death do us part we vowed.
In sickness and in health.
Were there words about
not putting daggers in my soul, was there anything about not breaking me down until I forgot who I was?
Friday my therapist tells me, “remember who you are”.
I’ve spent the last four years remembering who you told me I was for twenty long years.
Too weak,
fat,
bad hair style,
wrong shoes,
bland cook,
messy in the kitchen
not good enough,
never good enough,
always wrong.
Who am I, I try to remember.
I try to reach deep inside and pull out the daggers one by one so my heart doesn’t bleed out.
I am strong.
I am capable.
I am desirable.
I am loved.
I am good enough.
**** it. I am all that and more.

And you? Nothing but a coward.
Even my leaving could not stop you from trying to destroy me.
But you didn’t count on me remembering who I am.
Did you?