55--is it the limit?
I’ve been slowing down, for sure.
Trying to economize, my size
No longer a tease; I’ve got bad knees.
I seize the day,
ask me if I prefer the elevator.
I might see you later
—or not. Will there be tomorrow?
I don’t know, but I don’t dwell in sorrow.
I can hear more, see more,
even with reading glasses. I know what life is for.
I’m cozy in my home, alone. I grow things. I sings. Gladly
I do the dishes.
I have no birthday wishes. Wishes are for a future.
I’ve removed things, and sown a suture.
The way I was is history. That girl, with pretty shoes,
didn’t play the blues.
Now I listen, and I play those tunes.
I’ve got no use for pretty, ‘cept for being pretty sure.
Sure, I've been wrong—wrong to wear those shoes, for one thing,
cuz my toes hurt.
Now, I know all the dirt. I’ve got things buried so deep
no one knows. But from the dirt, stuff grows.
I’m watering those plants, and wait til you see what springs up. Time ain’t up yet,
and there’s a green hill, and tall trees, and a sunset.
I had trouble saving this poem. It didn't want me to start with a number. Weird.