AGE

Artwork by Autumn Skye Morrison

Age. 
She waits for me.
Door open and welcoming.
I walk in readily.
I can’t see very well close up anymore.
I have zoomed out magnificently.
Those little details that used to worry me.
Are now fuzzy, barely worth my remembering.

Age. 
She greets me.
Window open with her gentle breeze.
The winds are no longer howling.
But instead whisper peaceful gentle things.
As my shoulders soften into surrendering.

Nothing to prove.
No bigger shell to fill.
There is a freedom in shedding.
There is a freedom in letting go.
Toward death I am practicing.
Toward life I am finally heading. 

Age,
You beckon me.
Clock ticking.
It’s time to awaken.
No more sleeping.

Age, 
You no longer curse me
With youth’s fantasy
The pretense and pain that seduction can bring.

So, I peacefully pick up my reading glasses
and pour myself tea.
...as the grey hairs peek out from my hairline
speaking to me of finally resting into the peace 
of just being me.

-Joanna Renee Fassl
7/30/2019