Old age is golden; that’s what some say;
Nothing golden about any day
The gift called life kindly wakes me up,
Reaching for teeth in my stoneware cup;
Next to eyes on my bedroom’s nightstand,
My ears near what I dub, no man’s land.

Before reading the daily “obits,”
I take my time dusting off my wits;
Confirming I’m not among the dead,
I then nibble on some buttered bread.

My get-up-and-go got up and went,
My va-va-voom sure enough is spent;
My forgetter oddly is better,
My rememberer lost reminder;
My postmenopause works like a charm,
My insomnia sets own alarm.

Still, thankful that:

Union with God’s indivisible;
Neither leg has life’s roadmaps visible;
Can cut a rug as body still bends;
Don’t yet have to wear women’s Depends;
Don’t have pain relieving creams to rub;
Haven’t joined Hair Color of Month Club!

If things get better with age then I’m,
Pleased to finally be at my prime;
Gaining on elusive perfection;
Gray hair shouts: graduated with distinction.

And yet:

My stuff done strutted off without me;
Seasons opted to speedily flee,
Leaving undesirable downswing—
“Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything”—;
But this fact won’t torture very core,
Like truth in Chinese sage’s name, Yung No Mo!

                                                                                            ~ September 2014

 

 

 

Gray hair is a mark of distinction,
  the award for a God-loyal life. ~ Proverbs 16:31, MSG

Don’t be harsh or impatient with an older man. Talk to him as you would your own father, and to the younger men as your brothers. Reverently honor an older woman as you would your mother, and the younger women as sisters. ~ 1 Timothy 5:1-2, MSG

                                    Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. ~ Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII, Lines 163-166