We had a great Christmas. A happy Christmas.
And then, two days ago, I turned forty. I don't feel any different, really. It's just a number. But it means I've been here, on earth, for forty years.
In this strange, in-between week of Holidays, when the world slows down and gets ready for a new year, I always turn a new age, too. I get introspective and examine my life and make plans for the year to come. I lounge around in my pajamas, reading novels and eating chocolate.
Sometimes I write poetry.
Well, today I did, anyway. Here it is.
Be gentle, critic.
On Turning Forty and Changing the World
My shoulders are weary
Carrying this load. My feet ache. Cold.
I just want someone to pave the way . . . pay my way.
I want . . . too much.
The pavement is shifting and I’m having forbidden thoughts.
About to fall.
No. Be grateful. You have so much.
But I’m selfish. Stubborn. I want . . . so much more.
Is it too much to ask? Just for one day?
In the warm, lighted haven. Heaven, to me.
Books all around. I browse.
On a book jacket.
What I’m longing for. We all are.
This life. This world.
I close my eyes. Breathe deeply and know
I am not alone.
This ache. This wanting.
Proof that there is more.
I open my eyes and see clearly again
The gifts right there in front of me