You should have seen the local teenagers--
so respectful as they removed my heavy groceries,
my shoulder bag
and my house keys.
My blood had gone sluggish in my veins,
like the biddy who holds up the drug store line,
blindly picking ancient coins from a tiny purse.
Is that a penny or a dime?
Systolic or diastolic?
How much was it, again?
Oh go ahead, laugh.
I was old when I fell in love,
like the bird that goes bright after blundering into a window--
red as a June rose,
sliding slowly down the pane,
as elegant as a silent-era diva expiring in the fourth reel.
And my beloved?
She bakes, and goes up in the trees
searching the branches all morning long.
In late afternoon when I begin to nod,
she tells me there is a future for everyone.
Then she offers me cake,
fluff filled with holes,
made to rise with crossed fingers, oil, and eggs.
_______
loved this: like the bird that goes bright after blundering into a window--
ReplyDeleteThis is so full of the unexpected. I love it.
ReplyDeleteI was. And now I am young.
ReplyDeleteI love everything about this. It made me tear up.
ReplyDeleteLove the feel of this one Shay....almost haunting, yet endearing all rolled into one.
ReplyDeleteI especially like this line:
ReplyDelete"bird that goes bright after blundering into a window"
That is a great comparison for unexpected love (at any age).
'Bittersweet' seems inadequate, since this falls so far short of being either truly sweet or truly bitter, or any other one word summary of an emotional state as old as the earth and so fresh it must be just out of the oven. Beautiful, Shay.
ReplyDeleteYou prove that when bitter old hags unite, magic happens. As it should.
ReplyDeleteThat is seriously old. But, what's that saying? "Age is a question of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.
ReplyDeleteLove has no age limits.. and maybe the next love is still waiting out there..
ReplyDeleteI was behind a biddy like that yesterday at the grocery store. I sucked it up and put my patient hat on...
ReplyDeleteLovely poem -
I think the older we get the more we begin to appreciate things. Great poem Shay!
ReplyDeleteThe third stanza is quite fine! Obviously, this is not a poem about you ;) I have to admit, one rarely thinks of old women having a romance… they just lose that "look" in their eyes, I think - like they themselves can't even imagine it. Perhaps that's the tragedy - they believe they can't.
ReplyDeleteI liked what Margaret said "I have to admit one rarely things of old women having a romance."
ReplyDeleteAs an older woman, I would say to Margaret...old women rarely think of themselves as older woman...that's someone else!
I remember reading a funny post written by a man about how offended he got when some punky kid got up to give him his seat on a bus.
It was wonderful because the man shared the same thoughts I've had...like "wait a minute, I'm not old enough for this shit!" LOL
Now to the poem...once again your gift of visually creating a scene via poetry astounds me.
I could see the scenes of the old "biddy" picking ancient coins from a a tiny purse" and then, the comparison to the bird hitting the window to the "silent-era diva expiring in the fourth reel. LOL
You really are a great story teller!
My mother is 71 and unable to walk, and she has fallen in love with a man she met online. Our desire to love, and be loved in return, never dies. Not until we do, anyway.
ReplyDelete"like the bird that goes bright after blundering into a window" ... I love this image. Sometimes we have to smack into something to finally "go bright" (or get a clue, smarten up). And yes, turn red from the force and embarrassment. Such clumsy birds, some of us are.
I love this:
"And my beloved?
She bakes, and goes up in the trees
searching the branches ... Then she offers me cake,
fluff filled with holes,
made to rise with crossed fingers, oil, and eggs."
I hope she bakes really well if all she has to offer you is air and broken promises.
"bitter old hags unite"??? don't include me in your numbers!
ReplyDelete♥