Today I am SIXTY-TWO, a number I have no relationship with.
I loved being two, with my big brother always there,
My hero, who read to me and kept me safe, if not out of mischief.
I had expectations for being TWELVE, like paying the adult price
For a movie ticket (fifty cents, instead of a quarter!).
Mama said I could wear a bra! Oh my!
And TWENTY-TWO, why, that was glorious, full of myself as a new mom
With a career, and our new condo, and even a dog.
What more could anyone want out of life?
At THIRTY-TWO, I fell in love with tennis. I was bronzed by the sun
And lean and strong, quick as a cat, if not a good sport. Oh, I hated
To lose a point, much less a set or a match.
FORTY-TWO, a new bride again. That crazy red-haired guy across
The way, making me laugh at things I had had written in stone,
He changed my life in such a good way.
FIFTY-TWO, I didn’t know a heart could break so deeply,
Crushed by twin losses: my mom in April, America attacked in September,
Out of the rubble of grief, came words on paper.
So SIXTY-TWO is here, my brothers still my heroes,
Movie prices cut for the senior citizen (who me?);
I’m a grandma, with a new career in writing, two dogs to love,
And a house we hope to move to on a lake.
That crazy red-haired guy is gray, but he still makes me laugh,
He’d laugh even harder if I suggested “Just for Men” or red highlights.
And the grief? The scars are left, white ridges across my soul,
Across my heart. That will not change. But all the sorrow has turned
Into joy for the possibilities that lie ahead,
The memories behind me, the memories still to be made.