General Poetry posted February 27, 2022

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70-year-old version of me.

I Am Who I Am

by rosehill (Wendy)

I am who I am, and I’m happy with that.
My hair has turned gray and I’m running to fat.
And since I need no one to make me, “complete,”
I don’t shave my legs now, or pumice my feet.
I love being boss, watch MY favorite shows,
or read through the night, lost in elegant prose,
with no one to grumble or grouse at the light,
nor wake when I jump up and just have to write.
My sleep isn’t jarred by an icy cold foot.
I know where things are and my scissors stay put.
No underwear’s strewn on the bed or the floor.
The TP roll doesn’t sit bare anymore.
The dishes have halved and the pantry stays stocked
with chocolates and chips - my deep cravings unlocked -
and all sorts of things that I just love to munch.
No snide weight-loss pointers from sweet Captain Crunch.
Then last night I watched an old movie again
and wanted to share a, “remembering when.”
But memory’s echo just bounced through the hall.
I guess my heart misses you, dear, after all.


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