THAT OLD WOMAN

A confessional prose poetry piece.

                                  

Sometimes, when the hellish summer heat wraps itself around me, I still shiver….cold……..as if caught, very much unprepared, by a snowy night in mid December.

When I speak, those nearby hear not a word, except, of course, those that I might stumble over as I sometimes can’t…….the words………instantly remember.

I am, most days, little more than a somewhat vicious circle of quiet repetition, a redundancy, motion without purpose, an habitually boring routine.

I am a tedious reminder of days gone by. A conversation, if any, is reduced to memories past, no future, just shrouded thoughts of how it used to be, dead wishes, and faded dreams.

I am a rather colourless replica ...little more than blurs and whisps, of not particularly the who I was, but, the who I might have been.

My memories are laden with dark thoughts, pain... but there, too, are those delicious ones... the passions, the smiles, the joys.... though they all become increasingly difficult to see.

Sometimes, I wish in the night, for the strength to simply cease to be.......cease to exist.....to euthanize by will........ for that most intimate personal choice.

But my eyes are touched again and again, by a relentless dawn that mockingly preempts a much sought-after reprieve from this state I have become.

I am neither soothed nor frightened by imaginary things such as gods, heavens, or hells. I digest and accept that which is true, pragmatic, tangible.......or nearly so.

My looks are gone, along with most of my energy, my talents, my abilities....visions, dreams....seeing clearly, hearing well ..... mostly reduced to memories.

Far worse than this , is the dispelling of the slightest possibility of significance, purpose, dignity ...... replaced instead by mere existence.......not quite dead, just....... wilting.

 

The mirror reflects a poorly drawn image, not of who I am, nor of who I used to be, but of who I never was ........not quite a ghost, but more, a shadow.......dissipating fleetingly.

I am surprisingly not saddened by these observations. It is, after all, just a process ...(feared by some, accepted by others)...that clearly is until it is no longer.

There are no epiphanies nor revelations. just the incessently loud ticking of the clock and the somewhat drudgeful, although enlightening, task of self- evaluation.

I am a nightmare, a blessing. I am pain, I am comfort. I am sadness, I am joy. I am love, I am hate. I am a pinnacle, an abyss...... I am a beginning and an end.

I am the past, I am the present....... I am called by many names, sometimes no name at all, but rather, a vulgar hand gesture bidding me "move up in the line or out of the way"........

.......I am who you know, yet who you know not at all ................... I am I, I am me, I am no one, I am someone.........

As my final season approaches........ if I am acknowledged at all...... more often than not, I now am simply ............."that old woman".

Yet, in the course, the profundity of the experience itself, supersedes even the tiniest twinges of regret or remorse at having been here at all.

In the final evaluation made by myself, and, I think, those few others that willingly (or perhaps unwillingly) keep me in their heads or hearts.......

....the analysis clearly is that, all-in-all, whether good or bad, right or wrong, I have examined, explored, endured, and enjoyed this amazing manifestation called life.

Scrutiny completed.... before my personal Sun sets its last time, I choose to laugh more, love better, and, quite frankly, to Hell with those that know me only as "that old woman".

m a vadeboncoeur 9/2015

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

A lot confessed. A lot shared about the journey. This was intense and needed to release old pressures and mis- characterizations. A fulfilling life is a life well lived. We all need to find ourselves and our fulfillment. And excellent confessional poem....:).....

[m a vadeboncoeur]

Thank you.

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome. ....:)......