The appointment gave me pause. Understandable, I suppose: thinking about one’s aging brain is not a very comfortable PLACE to be. Still, I sit in the discomfort and ponder how to slow down the inevitable. In the process, I feel like the child at the dinner table pushing the undesirable bits of dinner ROUND the plate, to make it seem like she’s taken bites. I want to say to the universe, “may I be excused? May I leave this table of things I really don’t want?” Alongside this surging desire to run away, there is the stand and fight urge, to MOUNT a campaign as it were, to fight back. I imagine people saying, “she’s doing quite well for her age, isn’t she? Her mind is still so sharp, etc, etc.” Not to mention that awful wistful feeling: oh how I miss being YOUNG!

Georg’ann

What would happen if I wrote you nothing?
You would love me still, with understanding.
Such importance we place on accountability,
without honest expression of limitations,
Rarely acknowledging choice is possible.
Struggling to find words to MATCH my mood,
not wanting to SPOIL the practice, the tether.
You FOUND a pathway, let me join you there.
Today I wish to be YOUNG, the age of animal crackers
and mud pies. When stories were read to me
I was held in someone’s arms, no decisions to make.

Heather