Apr 10, 2013

National Poetry Month: day 10/poem 10

This next poem is based on a true story.


The Passing of a Matriarch

I passed her on the street.
Alone.
She came towards me in a heavy coat with a walking stick.
Bustling.
Like some ancient soothsayer come to tell me my fortune.
I was dressed in a tank top and shorts.
She asked me if I was really that hot.
I smiled and said, “Yes!”
“I wish I was that young, again,”
she replied through wrinkled eyes
and carried off
slowly down the blazing sidewalk
towards death.
Into the open arms of death.

Death pulling me under like great waves in the ocean.
Dangerous undertow.
Safe sand.
Bring me sweet death in misty waters.
The break of a cold wave against my skin like the tearing of flesh.  Succulent juices of life
bleeding into sticky bitterness
like bees’ honey in grandma’s tears.
Old age scares me.
The pain.
The change.
The loss.
When gone are the days of youth.
And memory slowly fades away
like old photographs of children playing
on some old forgotten beach
building sand castles of time
for sleeping beauty to lie in
under waves of torment.
Yes, old age scares me.
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