When we were young,
62 was old.
It was twice as old as the people we trusted.
Three times as old as we were ourselves.
Older than our parents were.
As old as our grandparents.
But here I am.
And I only remember that I am old when I look in the mirror.
Or someone offers me a seat on the subway.
Unlike the lady in the poem, I do not wear purple.
Purple is an unflattering color on me.
I do continue to wear red and bright blue because they are “present” colors.
It is hard to ignore me in red.
But I am often ignored by young people who know more than I do about
Music
Computers
Games
Smart phones.
But they do not know more about life.
I know more and find that I am still learning.
I am learning that life didn’t turn out as I expected,
But I faced it with courage and realism, when I had to.
I’ve learned that at some point, life is not long enough to offer you all possibilities.
But there are compensations in work you did,
The alliances you built,
The memories you have.
When I am an old woman, seriously old,
Like 82,
I will wear only jeans with forgiving waists,
And tunics that cover my pooch.
And turtlenecks that cover my wattle.
And I will finally, finally be brave enough to come to terms with my hair.
And I will not worry about the latest technologies that are passing me by.
If someone wants to talk to me, they can knock on my door,
Or make a phone call,
Or teleport to my living room,
So that we can discuss the old days,
When all things were possible,
And we were starry eyed,
And health was a given,
And our parents still nagged us.
And our families still loved us.
And we didn’t appreciate the day-to-day beauty of life,
But lived eternally in the future.
In Honor of My 62nd Birthday
