One Hundredth anniversary poem
These days we wear the years
like old clothes
hanging from our skins.
Hand-me-down body parts
our younger selves
with carefree hearts
left for us to age in
like all our ancient kin.
Limbs weary, soft and weathered
beneath our argyle sweaters,
loosely worn around us,
just another hanging skin.
We sit on the porch, drink lemonade
trying to remember our lives
wondering how we got this way
so ancient and so tired
wondering what will become of us,
where we're going when we die
I look at you, and you look back,
smiling your sweet, toothless smile.
We are wondering how long we've got
with what's left of our bodies
and minds.
We sit on the porch in the shade
remembering our lives
Recalling those days
when all was bright
and we knew our reflections
when clothes fit tight
like our skins and convictions
before they ever cracked.
We didn't give it much thought
back then
How easy it was
to shed the layers we cocooned
around ourselves most mornings
emerging as
whatever we wanted to be.
When we were young,
the rest of our lives
was some far off place
without times or dates
where we would meet again
in our argyle sweaters
at a slower pace,
and I would look at you
and remember all my days.
But we never really expected
to get here.
The last time we made love
we were like a couple of virgins.
Nervous fingers
feeling in the darkness
for something forgotten
but so familiar.
We moved together.
The years
started
to melt
away,
and we were young again
for a moment.
We lay there
naked as babies.
You looked at me
with your sweet, youthful eyes
You are still so sweet to me.
We may be two old cracked books,
but between our dusty pages
there is still life.
We haven't lost the urge.
That never goes away-
the desire to merge.
We spend our lives
in search of something
as familiar
as being in the womb.
The first time we made love
it was at a party.
You didn't know me at all,
but I saw you
watching me dance
from there on the wall
like I was something you were trying
to remember.
My dress was the color
of lemonade.
I grabbed your hand
and said
Baby,
there will come a day
when we wear age
hanging from our weary skins,
so let's use our bodies
while we've got em
because time leaves traces
of where it's been.
We are two blank books
to fill with memories
between our unmarked pages.
One day these bones
will be cracked and dusty.
One day
we will burn out
and fade
into a darkness
so strange but so natural
like being born.
You looked at me
and smiled
like you'd been here before
with me.
Like you knew
in some far off place
there's a front porch
with our names on it
where our ancient selves
with weathered hearts
are waiting to remember
the rest of our lives.
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