 When I grow very old
I shall swathe myself in purple So that when the wind gusts threaten my fragile footing, Perhaps my robes will paint a masterpiece.
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 Body broken -
Your lithe spirit Flits between the veils In and out This world and the other Round and round the portal Playing with angels, And praying soon to soar...  You say “I wasn’t always this old.
Before the sun set And the autumn came And the snow fell, I was someone. I had a life.” I say “My love, now you are more. When you were young you only had now. Now you have now and then.”  Quiet river - breathing
Constant working through Life cycle - churning Often hid from view. Tranquil waters – breathing Rising bubbles show Worlds beneath the waters Percolate with growth.  Earth cradles the old woman
Four million year old woman Skull of holes And jagged bones that chewed and gnarled Bones that walked and gathered Bones that reached and bones that simply sat Bones that stretched to new life And withered with the lengthening of the day Fragments rising Windswept from oblivion Beauty shards Four million year old woman Me.  How strange this place
Where we have fallen - In back of the shadows, This crevice Where we have fallen Alone together.  Consider this analogy-
Frailty and the bee. Frailty when she comes to rest Stings so painfully Bees sting too, we all know that But that's not all they do. They carry life's potion And offer honey too. Is it then such a leap To entertain the thought That frailty has gifts to give Equivalent to the loss?  Tears upon the summer roses
Speak of days that are no more Once I walked by roaring river Once I plucked life from the shore. Squeezing final drops of water Says my strength’s a different ilk Tremulous pearls of gentle wisdom, Petals of diaphanous silk.  Old One -
Speak to me of dark gifts, Of fragile boughs That bend and break. Speak to me of brittle bark, Of sinews tight That snap and sing Of precious things. Speak to me of fields laid bare Tears and spoilage everywhere. Turning soil, seed all sown. Unaware of where is home. Speak to me of furrows deep Where promises and stories keep Summer rains bring pulsing veins… Old one - Speak to me. | Nancy LindquistFrail beauty tracker. ArchivesJune 2012 CategoriesAll |
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