Humor

Mornings at Sixty-Seven

lillianLeave a comment

Before my rejuvenatement, I was crazed in an all-consuming job  — well, being honest  — I let it be all-consuming. I used to blame caffeine for my hyper and frenzied approach to life.

So here I am, drinking the same amount of coffee, savoring it rather than gulping it, and mea culpa  to the goddess caffeine. Slowing down, my body – not my mind, has made all the difference.


Mornings at Sixty-Seven

Eyes open unbuzzed awake
see him next to me half-covered
grey hair matted with sleep.

Legs stretch with pointed toes
while arms uncoil overhead
the body lumbers out of bed.

Breakfast made and savored
rich aromatic espresso beans
fingers smudged tasting newsprint ink.

At sixty-seven,
my mornings have elongated
into the sublime.

The Next Stage

lillianLeave a comment

Have you read About me yet?

So here I am, comin’ round the bend in my stages of life. And it occurs to me, there’s a reason why I bought a refrigerator magnet that says Do More of What Makes You Happy. Do you do that?  Guess what I choose in the poem below.

 

The Next Stage

A tectonic shift in life occurs
racing to the next mile marker.
Youth and middle age behind,
we peer
beyond the line.

This time
we will choose.
We’ve earned that right.
Read carefully
and then apply.

Wrinkle-free?
Slap on an age-defying
mystical cream
or pull on press-free
dungarees and tee.

Duty-free?
Must have
a tax-free everything-watch
or toss off the Timex and live,
task-free with exuberant flair.

Self-Portrait: Dancer Down

lillian4 Comments

Have you ever been asked to “define” yourself?

In Holly Wren Spaulding’s poetry class, we were asked to write a Self-Portrait Poem. That seems a bit softer, less in-your-face and serious than “defining” myself.

By way of explanation, I took dance lessons from age 4 to 17 with Miss Edith Tewes in Waukegan, Illinois. She was one tough lady and for a long time I fancied myself a budding Rockette. Photo is me in one of the many Boston rehearsals mentioned below.

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Self-Portrait: Dancer Down

There it was. Audition.
Wanted: 100 dancers
for three months prep to perform
in Boston’s Copley Square.
No experience required.
I did this twenty years ago –
in Iowa.
Ninety-nine hoofer-wanna-bes
plus Gene Kelly and me.
Thousands saw me
in the big-ten half-time show
or took a trip for hotdogs
and the john.

So I did it. Again.
Ninety-nine plus me
two nights every week.
Loud fast rehearsals
with slow
every day
repeats
at home
to video
online.
I should have known.
I was twenty years older
not newer.

One month to go.
On burgundy shag carpet
right-turn-slide-spin.
Then on wooden
unforgiving studio floor.
Five-six-seven-eight……
Crap.……dancer down.

Legs sagged. Muscles be damned.
Relegated to rice.
Rest-Ice-Compression-and-
–   – oh hell,
I forget what the E stands for.