I am the one


Who leaves traces of silver

In long strands

On jacket shoulders

Couch cushions

And the dark nests of vacuum bags


I am the one

Who aches a little each morning

Even though I take more care 

To safeguard my body

My food

My thoughts

My deep lubricated joints 


I am the one

With so much time behind me

Preparing for the coming age

And the eventual decline

Of youthful ease

The bookmark moving ever closer

To the last page of my own biography

Which I have written well. 


So why I am unsure?


Haven't I had time to adjust

To ponder

To be ready for grandchildren

And a life's soil that must be tended

Rather than just left to bloom?


But I am not afraid. 

Not now. 

This silver thread

Ties my life

To all those with the good fortune

To remain long enough

To see their hair turn

To even, maybe

See their children have children

To have learned a thing or two

About life

To have settled


Into kindness

Lest resistance make the bones soft

Instead of the heart


Age is a true story

And I am grateful for my place among its pages


For a happy ending

And for many chapters

Before the close