aging is not stealthy, like some ninja warrior
sneaking up and nunchucking me from behind
new lines and wrinkles appear in the mirror daily
whether I choose to acknowledge them or remain in denial,
I am surprised when I bend down to pick up something I’ve dropped again
to feel a new twinge or stab catch my breath
and when that happens I say, “oh I feel you now”.
aging is not beautiful; the silver framing my face may be precious
but only as a reward for all the courage I’ve revealed
the soft curves of my body are not a sign of vulnerability,
but symbolize the great expanse of my soul,
today I treasure really looking people in the eye,
saying aloud, “I like your smile, your sweater, your care”
and when that happens I sigh, “I hope I made a difference.”
aging is not inevitable; we are blessed with each bonus day,
another moment to tell a loved one they are beloved.
I try to halt the peevishness I feel towards the flesh hanging from my arms
by assuring myself that I now have angels wings and then,
I laugh at myself because crones aren’t always angels,
sometimes we transform into bitches, refueling our wrath
and when that happens, I whisper, “can you see me now?”
aging is not in the mind where I will always remain 30,
while my body changes and prepares for the next transition
I forgive myself for the days when I wheeze like an organ needing repair
for truly I am an oak tree with strong roots, able to dance in the wind,
yet curious, wilely and wild enough to
March on Washington while proudly shouldering a rainbow flag a little higher
and when that happens can you hear me roar?
silver power is not for the faint hearted,
look us in the eyes if you dare, discount us at your peril
you will see tigers baring their teeth, or what remains of them,
listen closely, you will hear us growl, we are becoming crones,
we care more for serenity and less for what others think
with less to lose we are reckless and daring
and when that happens, will you miss us sneaking up behind you?
© Mari Selby, August 6, 2017
Of Sticks and Stones 