The Weaning

Spencer and the dolphin


I notice you
Noticing me
We walk as women now
In tandem
But hours and towns separate us
Birth was  yesterday
It appears to me
I weep
Even at the thought of your leaving
Tomorrow shrouds my soul
Hope is your middle name
And I am left
Mine is Grief
Stay young my child
Stay young at heart
My feathered nest
Plucked  from my breast
Internal ticking
Tells  me it is nearly time
For you to  find
Places you’ll call home
I bind up
So to wean an aching heart
Good bye my child
It is nearly time for you to go
You who started in my womb
Too soon you said hello

To places outside of me.


Today is Day 10. Joining Emily at Emily Wierenga dot com for Imperfect Prose

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The Art of Aging


The Art of Aging

Holds mystery in the folds
Unfurls surprises from the hidden
Places of memories from
Girlhood, childhood and inbetween
From long ago move from sepia toned
Imagine a reframing of a life
Displayed in all its glory
Revealing what it stored up
Rooted in deep
Someplace near a haloed edge
We teeter on the brink
And sense a gilding
Brush stroked over moments, laced
With pain and grief
Goodness gathers up the tattered
Dark age spots
Replaced now
A birth occurs within
Life unfolding, wait
In case of emergency you may break
The glass
It is time
Rotates on the very  edges of
A new and different dawn
Age will take her rightful place
A crown
Up on her head
Jewels for every moment
She waited years for her new birth

In the end
The art of aging, a masterpiece
No science can explain.