Inside, we don't feel so old,
although our children are (mostly) grown
and their conversations amongst themselves seem banal.
We still wear the same clothes
think the same thoughts-
The same feelings seize our nervous systems & flood our cells
with the same hormones-
some more than others.
And then on one occasion
or more than one occasion,
we are passers by, or
in, the ebb and flow
of our daily travels, our daily travail,
and we catch a glimpse
of what others see.
And this glimpse, more than all of the peering into the mirror and counting wrinkles
and the counting of the scars,
it is this glimpse that makes us feel our age
and we acquiesce.
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5 comments:
love the poem. i get it and am there too. with you.
there's a typo in the next to last paragraph.
you meant to write "more than" and you wrote "more that."
really love the poem.
you're very talented.
the wonderful poem is perfect now. why don't you delete the first comment. we don't need negativity!
no need to delete. i do not mind the editing:)
you're the best!
Right there with ya!
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