Bio Note: We’ve been in very hard times, that promise to continue for some time. Thankfully, there is poetry. I continue to zoom in to readings, and my long time group which meets twice a month. I continue to try for a daily walk. I focus on birds and skies and music. Let us keep writing and sharing and know that love wins out.
Winter of My Sixtieth Year
As it turns out, I am aged now! With wrinkles my Grandmother once wore. Like foil that was scrunched into a fist, then opened, to lay on bones as a face. As it turns out, Grandma is long gone, her daughter is now the old one and the kind one, holding the family together with her care. As it turns out, I don’t feel the wisdom that you’d assume comes with wrinkles. I feel instead, sometimes, clueless; helpless; uncertain. Was Grandma’s focus on collecting beautiful teacups and rings a way to escape? As it turns out, there’s a need to escape the looming dread of an uncertain future for our children’s world. One we’ll be leaving behind.
Lacey seaweed, green on the tan shore, making rows of curves; fringing the water like a scalloped lampshade’s edge. Sparkling shells; the moon-shimmers; translucent disks some name “toenails” sprinkle shore line sand where the tide has pushed them, mapping out their own glittering galaxy, later to be criss-crossed by footprints of beach combers, and gulls. Where the waves ride the sandbar, they are line after line of charging white horses, engaged in battle, kicking dust at their feet. Shall I join them?
Originally published in Survival Part 2: Trees, Birds, Ocean, Bees (Marjorie Moorhead 2020 Duck Lake Books)
©2021 Marjorie Moorhead
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL