Today it started to wilt.
When night comes, does the darkness offend its vanity?
Blacking out the beauty of its short life for hours at a time?
My grandmother, that irascible giant, rushed to the hospital, weak and in pain.
Leaving the emergency ward, she leaned against me, though not wanting to.
I noticed today a childhood friend had varicose veins. I touched the lines on the side of my mouth.
On the way home in the rear view mirror new strands of silver stood out against my black hair.
Another May whirls into the past.
The year pirouettes and it's October again.
When, as I child, when my mother said that dinner would be ready in 20 minutes I would feel astonished at the idea of waiting so long.
Hungry I'd watch the seconds tick away on the kitchen clock.
Time doesn't move the same now.
Einstein's Theory of Relativity, Rumi, Lao Tzu, Maurice Sendak--
Nothing could have prepared me for this.