Hindsight
wrinkly skin thin as tissue paper
her shrunken skeleton icicle brittle
betraying
all her eighty-one years
yet between her thinning surface
and rickety bones
with all her hopes and imaginings
she is still eighteen
her blood flows just as warm
nerve fibers crackle
with the same electricity
as all those years ago
her brain just as alive
her soul just as eager
for adventure,
for love
in the mirror even her age reverses
whether on a slip of paper
or by visions reflected
from her cataract peepers
though now the dreams from long ago—
some realized, some not—
are the stuff of nostalgia
and sometimes bittersweet
for now she knows
some of those dreams
have lost their chance
to become real
and some
might better have been
unrealized
after all
what we wanted at eighteen
isn’t always what we’ll wish we’d had
when the years have vanished
before our rheumy eyes.
Love the idea, the poem, and the image!
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Thanks so much!
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I saw those unwanted changes in my own mother as I cared for her from the ages of 70-95 (and now see them in myself – scary)! I found it so helpful to give her something specific to look forward to on a daily basis…often a tasty treat or a CD with the music she loved, and we would share the treat or music together. As long as she was still living, it gave her a focus.
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What thoughtful caring, Arlene.
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I loved this, thank you for sharing. Hope you have a wonderful week.
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Your poem reminds me of something I read about “being a teenager trapped in a senior citizen’s body”!
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I can identify with that. Would love to see that piece!
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Loved this. Great use of mirror image. And all so true. Well, I can’t speak for 81 just yet, but time is speeding on.
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Thanks, Sharon. Non, I don’t think we have to be 81 for the sentiment to resonate.
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