April is National Poetry Month. Looking for a poem to post, I came across this one:
Of a middle-aged woman
by Linda Potts
One year closer to over-ripe,
I study the mirror for signs
of my spoilage:
clues I will be taken
off the shelf,
by overzealous labelers,
transferred to a bin
at the back of the store,
by those with discerning taste.
How can it be
when I feel so young
and still yearn to embrace
the giddiness and euphoria of my past?
A time when beauty unfairly opened doors,
and when the passion of my beliefs
made answers simple?
Nothing now seems as clear,
and judgment less hurried.
The balance of right and wrong constantly shifting,
as I stand in the vast chasm of middle-age.
Behind me, the passionate rage and conviction of youth
burns my eyes raw,
and in the distance, awaits a life
I am not yet ready to embrace.