Figuring Out Life While Aging
A poem I wrote in mid 2022
I don’t know how to live
without the carapace
Of coupledom.
Flayed, raw now,
every drop of anger or disdain
burns;
every discovery of smooth deception
rams
into my gut.
I want a leather dress
that reaches my work boots
and a masked helmet
with psychic glasses
while I grow
thick scarred skin,
armour while I learn
how to walk alone.
Christmas lights the colour of twilight, and a heritage nativity set, - A bleak celebration avoiding plastic Santas or plastic regrets Awaiting a new year, watching changes from remembered winters, listening to the noise of fools heard on the tv news.
Words shape in the feel of rooms remembered, when, suddenly - I know I’m awake & the day waits.
I wake sulky, reluctant, reviewing my resentments, lonely, yet don’t want visitors. Nothing satisfies: the sun is too bright; Our home too quiet. I want to hide. Another funeral - sitting huddled within myself, fists clenched, trying not to listen, wanting to leave, shaking. I crave - a softening in my throat, eyes that don’t itch, a conversation no longer available. Somewhere there is joy, waiting, perhaps, to flash through me, again, but now I’m grieving.
My summer is over; chill seeps into the silent room: winter comes..
An Excerpt
O send me disorienting dreams, I pray, and save me from a rational life.
What’s left after the washing is put away and the dishes are done? What’s left after they all leave without waving goodbye? I close myself in the small room with my past struggles and accomplishments and reach for . . . What’s left after anger and desolation? What’s left is an old woman reaching out to find what’s left when she becomes invisible, unheralded, alone and waiting to find out who she will now become.
The golden sky at dusk Behind barren black branches Seen from inside A warm home. Friends from life times Wearing age’s stories Eyes drenched with memories: A warm home.
Learning Living 