Garden of Graces

A look into aging

Garden of Graces

Growing older is a garden of graces . . .

disgraces, wild goose chases, closed in places.

It is an imperceptible tottering of time on a

conveyor belt, where at the end time drops

into the slipstream and becomes the mobius .

Growing older is wanting to be older when

you are young and younger when you are old.

You wish away the days, never dreaming that

you would give a king’s ransom to have them 

back once again, treasured, appreciated.

In our youth we squander time, kick it to the curb.

In our older years we try to tie it to ourselves.

Age sneaks around when we aren’t looking, spreads

its poison pollen and is gone without our seeing.

The business of living distracts us from noticing

until it is too late, when we look into a mirror,

only to behold the ruthless signs smothering us.

It is realizing men no longer turn and whistle.

You have become invisible, crayoned out until

some young man says, “Grandma, the time?”

Growing older is smelling of Icy Hot instead of

Beautiful by Estee Lauder, seeing people sniff.

It is keeping L`Oreal in business long past the time

you want to stop, but can’t bear those gray hairs

that are mute testimony to the inexorable decay

Growing older is breaking the shackles of propriety

Wearing that purple, and at least four sweaters.

It is joyously realizing you don’t care a fig what

people think or say about you or anything else.

You can laugh at the absurdity of fashion, style.

It is the delicious capability to say anything

you want, vent your opinions, disagree.

You say the most outrageous things freely,

and are forgiven, because you are getting

more than a little fey and just a little dotty.

And, oh, growing old is a sweetest blessing,

for you no longer are frozen in fear at death

and its coming soon, for your years have

worn you out and everything changes so much

there is scarcely anything left of your world

What does it matter what god you worshiped

This earth has been hell enough for an eternity

and if there be heaven, it is icing on the cake

You have lived long enough to form your beliefs

and they propel you toward an adventure so

wondrous, you are breathless and eager to begin

Author's Note

We all write to our own tune.